#and together THIS is the best you can come up with???

[quarterlifekitty]

weaknesses: your cooking

König was on watch with you late one night, and you insisted upon filling the air with a bit of conversation– said you needed it to stay awake. You end up asking him lots of questions that night, including all of his favorite foods and drinks. He has trouble answering, he’s never had to come up with this much information about himself, but you don’t mind.

“Do you have a favorite dessert? Mine is lemon meringue pie,” you say with a sweet little smile. It makes him realize how cute you are. That, outside of your uniforms, a cute girl is talking to him. It makes him panic a little, such that he can only bring himself to respond with a quiet me too. 

He had no idea what his favorite dessert was when you asked. He wasn’t even sure he particularly enjoyed desserts at all, honestly. He’s hoping you forget about this embarrassing exchange, really. But you don’t.

You’re stationed in Switzerland when next it comes up. You proudly come back to your accommodations with a little box from a bakery. “I saw this in town today and remembered that you liked meringue too! So I got one, if you wanted to share it with me?”

He just nods. And it’s the best fucking dessert he’s ever had. Which has little to do with how the desert itself tastes. It becomes the first dessert he learns how to make at home, and he makes his best yet when you’re celebrating moving in together. It’s when he’s feeding it to you that he finally comes clean– when you’d asked him his favorite dessert, he’d never even eaten lemon meringue pie before.

Gaz takes incredibly good care of himself. He detests getting sick, maybe more than anything else. It’s just so annoying, and it totally ruins his momentum– throws him off his groove. So he very very rarely gets sick, and is in fact often disgustingly bright, healthy, and energetic. 

Gaz also comes from a home that had amazing food. His standards are, understandably, quite high. A piece of his soul leaves with every MRE he consumes. Which is why his favorite food from you is such a surprise.

It’s during the infancy of your relationship. You’ve been on a few dates. Exploratory, probing, trying to deduce if this is love or just the symptoms of it. He’s on the fence about telling you he’s fallen ill– it’s a little awkward, isn’t it? Partners are supposed to take care of each other in times like that, but he’s not sure you’re ready to be called his partner, much less be around him when he’s a germ factory. But he ends up telling you, if only not to look like he’s ignoring you if he slips into another death-nap while you’re texting.

You do end up coming over, despite all his warnings, all of the easy outs he provides you with. Get him a fresh gatorade before busying yourself in his kitchen.

You come back with a steaming mug that he doesn’t recognize. You say you brought it from home– that it’s your special mug you like to use when you feel icky. It’s got wisteria painted on the side with the scientific name in script next to it, and a little silver spoon with a teddy bear on the end is sticking out of it.

He takes the mug gratefully but still a little cautious– he doesn’t really know all that much about your cooking, and he’ll readily admit that his parents ruined the standard.

He looks down in it to see oatmeal. A bit of cinnamon dusted on, a golden swirl of honey going through it. Just a little bit of cardamom. 

He used to hate oatmeal when he was a kid, but he finishes the mug in record time and asks if you’ll make more. It’s just so soft and hot– gentle on his aching stomach and sore throat, the heat and cinnamon spice clearing up his sinuses a little bit. The sweetness is perfect and comforting as it sticks to the roof of his mouth.

Nowadays he keeps up the same wellness regimen, but he does almost look forward to getting sick, because it means you’ll make oatmeal for him.

When sharing a safehouse with Soap, there’s one inevitable constant: the whining. He always finds something to whinge about, just to ease his own boredom. It’s never about the conditions, having to sleep on shitty mattresses on floors, having to trek 10 miles through the dark and fog to even get there– it’s always about something stupid.

Girl who hasn’t texted him back. His deployment making him miss out on a limited edition thing he would’ve wanted to buy. That during his last leave a girl ghosted him after he barked during sex. Come to think of it, it was usually about his girl problems.

But this time, it was that he happened to be deployed on his birthday. Not that he’s sore about spending time with the taskforce, you’re his best mates in the world– but there’s not much celebration to be had out here.

“Could do with a fockin’ cake, ye ken?”

You were taken onto this squad for your adaptability. You’re brilliant when it comes to improvisation. And there’s a couple of shelf stable things left around in the cabinets here, although dubious.

So what are you able to bang together with flour, sugar, and the liquid from a can of chickpeas in some tin cups on top of a butane stove on its last legs?

That’s right. A fockin’ cake. Is it good? God no. The texture is weird as hell and it’s somehow dry on the outside but completely raw in the middle. But Soap smiles the entire time he’s eating it, and god knows he’s finishing the whole damned thing.

He was always of the mind that it’s rude not to finish your wife’s cooking.

It’s Price’s first holiday with you, and his expectations are low. Not as in he doesn’t think you’ll be lovely and amazing, he most certainly does, but his whole squad is coming over and preparing for that is a pretty big undertaking. So if it’s something a little more casual, maybe a bit of potluck, he’ll be perfectly fine with that. His ex used to order catering and tell the guests that she’d cooked it all herself, so anything is a step up from that in his book.

You stun him absolutely stupid when you not only plan a spectacular, full holiday dinner, but you make his boys help out– commanding them in the kitchen the same way he does in the field. Well, maybe a bit less forgiving. You’re less tender-hearted than him when the moistness of the roast in the oven is on the line. Everything is delicious, full of love, and satisfying beyond belief.

But his true fulfillment comes about a year later when his soldiers are awkwardly talking around their plans for the holidays, trying to nudge him into inviting them over again to make dinner with his missus. Muppets, the lot of them.

A lot of Ghost’s concept of vegetables come from army food, school cafeterias, and all-you-can-eat buffets. Typically frozen, only to be thawed and overcooked to an ungodly degree. On the rare occasion he had a half-decent meal with a vegetable side, it was typically covered in butter, cheese, or finely chopped bacon. Sometimes a combination of the three.

You’re a hookup he falls back on a lot when he’s on leave. Keeps him away from his empty apartments and crowded mind. This time, he comes straight to your place when he lands, wanting to lose himself in your cunt more than anything else. And you’re accommodating, you don’t have anything better to do and he doesn’t leave you wanting.

Usually he makes himself scarce pretty quickly, but this time he finds that maybe he was still running on adrenaline when he came in, and now that it’s wearing off with his post-orgasm high, his entire body is killing him. He feels like lead. And he hates that his struggle is plain to see.

“You can just stay, y’know. S’not like I’ll be expecting a wedding ring in the morning or anything. I’m just gonna go make dinner.”

He’s too tired to protest. Falls asleep just about as soon as you’re out of the room, despite very much intending to get the hell up and pass out somewhere that isn’t your apartment. He wakes up to an amazing smell.

Your dinner isn’t complicated. You’d just planned to have dinner by yourself, so it wasn’t fancy or anything. Grilled some salmon, put it over rice with some unagi sauce, steamed some fresh veggies for the side. Simon just barely has the energy to amble over to your kitchen table when it’s clear he won’t be leaving the premises any time soon.

When he’s not eating food that’s mass produced and shitty, he expects to be eating the kind of battered and fried pub faire that sits like a stone and ravages the digestive tract.

This may very well be the first time he’s eaten a meal that was genuinely good that didn’t make him feel at least a little bit disgusting afterwards. And god– it’s like it’s his first time tasting a vegetable for real. Why didn’t anyone tell him they could be this way?

You’re quite frankly shocked when you wake up in the morning and Simon is not only still there– he wants to take you out to breakfast. 

The truth is that he got a pretty remarkably good night’s rest, but in the wee hours while he was waiting for you to wake up? He was planning. The jump from friends with benefits to marriage won’t really be so difficult if he can play his cards right.

[defmaybe]

Talk Too Much

TWICE’s Myoi Mina x Male Reader

5.4k words

Part One of Untitled Mina Series

Title inspired by COIN’s Talk Too Much

Sometimes, you just have to say the thought that lingers in your mind out loud. Maybe it’s a form of resistance, standing up for yourself. Maybe it’s a proclamation of love. In your case, it’s something that’s going to lighten someone’s day up.

A tongue click. “Looking spicy today, boss. I’m burning because of ya.”

She glances back, not wavered by your words. Her strides remain calm, walking towards her office with a lethal poise. A smirk appears on her face. A scoff is heard from her lips. And she just looks away.

Maybe you can ramp it up next time.

—

The work day plays out as usual—emails, messing around with Figma, interviewing users. You put in your best like you’ve always been doing. It’s exhausting, surely, but you take some pride in giving your all like this. You’re proud of yourself.

In a heartbeat, the short clock hand teases the number five. The sun casts orange hue all over the office, gleaming it with the tranquil of the evening, ready to collapse under the weight of workers heading home. You sit in your seat, analyzing your customer’s answers from the morning. Your questions are clever, you’ve been told. Extracting users’ needs is your expertise, and you couldn’t be more–

A Slack notification appears.

Myoi Mina

Meet me in my office before you go home. I’ll clock you in for overtime.

Damn, another late evening. 

You let out a sigh, leaning back against the chair. Your eyes glance towards her office. She remains fixated on her computer, typing out something. Her posture remains as confident as ever, even in her chair—straightened back, determined eyes. She’s just untouchable.

Oh, to make her crumble under your body.

—

“So, you do know the reason you’re in here, right?” Mina asks, tapping her Caran d’Ache on the table—steady, expressionless. You sit in your seat, raising your eyebrows. It’s probably nothing much. You know her.

You take a careless guess, “Extra prep for tomorrow’s interviews?” putting one leg on top of the other. Your hand thrums restlessly on your thigh, foot tapping on the floor.

“No interviews tomorrow. I’ve pushed it to Wednesday in case you become too,” she says, tilting her head slightly, “drained.”

You let out a chuckle, crossing your arms together on your chest. “Come on, boss, you know I never get tired. I once did twenty interviews in a day!”

Mina scoffs, a small smile escapes her lips. “And I admire that. Still, I’m certain that this is going to be the new extreme for you.”

You raise your eyebrows. This is intriguing. Maybe this will get you a promotion. “Well, whatever it is, I’m ready.”

Mina nods approvingly, with a slight upturn on her lips. “You have a lot of tangible qualities. We’d be pleased to have more employees like you, really.”

Safe to say that lights up a smile on your face. “I’m flattered, boss.”

“I’m happy that we’ve come to this conclusion. Now, let’s get back to our topic.”

She rises from her chair, sauntering around the table. Her motion is reserved. Every step is careful. She settles in the space between you and her wooden table before setting herself on it. 

She looks down at you, smirking. Her flowery scent hits your nose. Heat builds up within your body. You stare into her eyes, and you’re sure that she’s inviting your gaze—the fire in her eyes, the slightly louder breathing than usual, the upturn of her lips, so you let your eyes wander. That slightly creased white shirt is so tempting, a deep neckline that’s just begging for you to rip it apart. Her belt, leather black, it’d sure look good on her wrists while you ruin her. The black skirt drapes over her legs nicely. If it would be just a few inches shorter.

You just can’t resist the temptations anymore. Your cock is fucking straining in your pants.

“God, you’re just smoking hot, Mina.”

It finally slips out.

Mina chuckles, covering her mouth. She leans forward just a little, enough to reveal the curves of her bra-clad cleavage. Oh, to rip it off and feast on her nipples while she moans like a slut under you. You reach out to her neckline, teasing it gently—cotton. Your fingers slide towards that top button, ready to undo it and free her from the confines of her clothes. Just imagine fucking her senseless in her own office, pressing her face against the table while you rut into her tight ass like you’ve always wished. You just have all the power in the world right now.

“Tell me,” Mina says, tilting your chin up, her body shivering slightly at your teasing. You’re affecting her, “what have you been wanting to do to me?”

You look into her eyes. They’re burning, and you can’t just contain your ferocity anymore.

“I’ve always wanted to take you, especially in this room, baby. Every time you walk past me, I just want to rip whatever you’re wearing and bury myself in your ass. God, you’re just begging to be fucked with it. I wanna know how that tight ass feels around my cock, and I’m going to cum inside while you’re just my little slut.”

Mina chuckles as the first button comes off, showing more of the breathtaking curves of her tits. You trail lower for the second, with a scorching need to expose every inch of her porcelain skin.

“That’s rather … explicit, don’t you think?” Mina says coyly, scratching your chin gently with her fingers. More buttons slowly come off with your hand. She’s just letting you do anything. You’re the one in control here.

“Your orders, baby,” you reply, smirking all assuredly. You lean closer towards her chest, taking in that flowery scent of her body. Your hand undoes the last button of her shirt, and the edge of it falls along with the gravity. She’s exposed, all for you to touch.

Mina smiles, satisfied with your assertions. “Would you mind taking my skirt off first? There’s something I’ve been wanting to show you.”

Oh, to finally see her ass after years of ogling on it, wishing to clap it against your thighs.

Your hand glides down towards her belt, undoing it with ease, as if it’s a practiced move. She lets out a pleased hum as the belt comes off—another layer of obstruction gone. You then reach for the zipper of her skirt, eager to pull it down. The air is thick with tension, ready to snap at any second. You couldn’t be more prepared to make her your cumdump.

“Come on, baby. Don’t you wanna see the surprise?” Mina huffs, hand trembling under your chin.

You chuckle. “Good things come to those who wait.”

Your fingers find her zipper, before pulling it down gently. The sound of it just almost breaks you—so intense, so irresistible.

Until it reaches the bottom stop. The clicking sound elicits a smile from the two of you.

“What are you waiting for?” Mina quips.

Without another word, you grab the waistband of her frustratingly long skirt. Fucking finally. Her ass is yours.

And you pull it down. 

What the fuck?

It’s a fucking strap-on.

Your mouth hangs open in shock. Strange? Peculiar? Bizarre? Those words cannot describe the sheer astonishment you feel on what’s under her skirt. You try to say something, but nothing comes out of your mouth. Your body freezes, unable to make sense of the black cock poking into your face, only shivering with what you’re unable to process. You’re supposed to be the one using a cock here!

Mina runs her hand in your hair, playing with locks and curls on your head. You hear a soft giggle from above, but your focus remains on her throbbing plastic cock. Images of what she could do with it flash into your head. You’re pinned against the door, defenseless, as her cock drills into your ass rhythmically. Wet clapping sounds echo through the room—might even leak out to the main office. Lube drips down your thighs onto the floor. The room reeks of sweat, sex, and your perfumes blended together. She gives your ass a slap, and your moan becomes a melody for the entire floor.

And more.

Your face is pressed onto her stack of documents on the table, body shaking with her cock splitting you open. A pool of cum sits at the door. You’re oversensitive from your first orgasm, but she keeps attacking your prostate with an unmatched precision. Sweat drips down your forehead, ruining the papers with your mark of submission. “Oh, you’re ruining the next meeting’s plans!” Mina chides, without any signs of halting her barrage. She’s just wasting papers printing these out.

And more. This is just embarrassing, staring at her cock and imagining how it could ruin you into a slut.

Your leg is raised in the air. It’s for easier access, Mina said—should’ve kept yourself more flexible. Another pool of cum sits under her desk, not as much as the one at the door, sadly. Mina thrusts into you relentlessly, nails digging into your skin. Your face is pressed against the window, all visible for the workers going home to see. It creaks slightly with her motion. “I’m going to clean my window with your cum, well, if you’re not drained yet at this point.”

You’re fucked.

“Do you think black fits me? I’m pretty bad with colors, so I’d like some external inputs.”

And why the fuck are you still hard?

You look up at her, finding a smile so full of kindness—the kind of smile parents use to assure their children. It’s supposed to be warm. It’s supposed to be calming, but you’re fucking certain that there’s nothing but sin in her heart—lust with a tinge of pride, to be more specific.

“I’ll take that as a yes, glad that you love it,” Mina says, ruffling your hair softly. You just can’t process this anymore—so foolish with human dynamics. Your control is demolished the instant that her cock springs free, imagining the ways she can ruin you—against the door, on the table (on top of that, her meeting documents), against the window, cock dangling pathetically and giving everybody below a free show.

Suddenly, she grips a handful of your hair, not harsh, but effectively locking your eyes on hers. She leans in a little closer. You can see the small wrinkles under her eyes, the small pimples on her forehead, the streak on her lips. Her minty breaths brush against your face. It makes her more human, less of a Hel. Somehow, though, that just makes her more terrifying.

Humans shouldn’t be capable of wielding this kind of terror.

“So, I have lube under my desk, just for cases like this. Off-document disciplinary sessions, you know?” Mina says with a chuckle, eyes so full of faux-compassion. “Although I’m in the mood for trying something new.”

You can only gulp. Mind races with the possibilities of how she’ll make your ass ready for her cock. Honey? Vaseline? Condensed milk? A bead of sweat falls down from your forehead. Your body trembles in her hold. The scent of her body overwhelms you. You can’t think straight anymore.

“I did say that you possess a lot of tangible qualities, right?”

You sheepishly nod, barely prepared for her next words. It’s just all dread, no room for any levity.

“Well, there’s one thing that has been an ongoing problem with you” — and she leans closer to your ears, still on the desk — “you just don’t know when to shut the fuck up.”

The realization hits.

You are a bitch. All this time, you’ve been a foul-mouthed fucker who’s practically begging to be put in his place. Everybody has grown tired of you, but no one dared to take any action. Those boundary breaches, those uncalled-for teases, those flirty incitements, they were tabbed. And now, it’s time for you to pay it up.

“Therefore, you and your mouth need to be taught a lesson, one that’s going to stick.”

Mina gets down from her table, standing up straight—resolute. Her white top hangs open, all unbuttoned, but still as classy as always. Her black, artificial cock stands tall, ready to take on your fuckholes without any mercy.

“Kneel, please.”

Trembling, you get up from the chair. You’re a little taller than her, but that means nothing with her having everything in her hand like this. You feel reluctant to get down; a part of you hasn’t given up yet. 

But an order is an order.

You sink to your knees, her throbbing cock in your face. It’s so close. The scent of her perfume and sweat wafts into your nose. Your hands tremble. Your body shakes with dread. Your stomach churns.

You’re hard, though.

“Open your mouth.”

Your lips part slightly, barely ready for her relentless violation. She grabs a handful of your hair with one hand, the other aiming her cock towards your mouth. Your mouth quivers in fear. The air is thick with anticipation—the way she’s going to feel in your mouth, the way it’s going to hit the back of your throat, the way that you might cum pitifully from sucking her cock alone.

You flinch at the first touch of her tip on your lips. It’s so cold, so synthetic. Mina pushes it inside further, parting you more. Your body writhes as her width spreads your mouth out. It’s so big. Too big. The air becomes her—her sweat, her perfume, her cock. You feel nauseous from the revolting taste of plastic. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever savored. Consider it a new experience. She pushes more, and it’s starting to trigger your gag reflex. You spasm uncontrollably, making retching sounds in your throat. This is too much for you, but there’s still a few centimeters left. She drills it in, and her cock begins to stretch out the back of your throat. She’s just too big for you. Your hands seek grips by your side. You settle on her thighs. Your eyes flutter. You can’t breathe. Fuck. And with one final push, she’s at the hilt. Your throat is fucking ruined. The sound of your breath against her body rings in your ears.

Fuck.

You’re just a toy for her now.

“How was it?” Mina scoffs, running her fingers through your hair. You try to focus on her eyes, but her cock is buried so deep in your mouth it robbed a handful of your senses away—vision included. So, you just give her thighs a few squeezes.

Mina giggles, relishing in the scene of her employee getting his mouth fucked out like this. “Oh, I don’t know morse code, baby. I think you’ll have to use your mouth.”

Of course, she presses you harder into her cock.

Your body writhes violently in her hold. You can’t breathe on her hips. Your eyes are fluttering, and they’re getting all teary. You’re just a lump of flesh, begging to be used and abused.

Suddenly, she lets go. Your head springs off, nape landing on the chair’s edge. It stings, but that can’t compare to the happiness you feel when a puff of air hits your lungs again. A relieved smile escapes your lips. You look up into Mina’s eyes. She smirks, and they’re still gleaming with feigned compassion. Drool falls off your lips onto your clothes, onto the floor. You’re a mess. It’s all dirty, but that’s the last of your priorities.

“Sorry, didn’t see my cock in your mouth earlier,” she says, smiling shyly.

You say nothing, still trying to catch your breath. Your heart races in your chest. Your body aches with humiliation. The synthetic taste of her cock lingers in your mouth, and you’re sure that you’re going to remember this for a long time.

Mina squats down, hand reaching out for your lips. You can only smile wearily against the chair, mind all scattered. She wipes the mess on your lips away, cleaning your face with her delicate hand. For one second, it feels so soothing, and you think that it’d be better if this is genuine. You can feel your smile widening, face shifting closer towards her fingers, nuzzling against them. It’s just so affectionate that you forget how she fucked your face mere seconds ago.

You hear Mina chuckle. It’s probably amusing her to see her boytoy loving her touches like this. She continues to wipe the remnants of spit off your face like a baby. No chastising. No mocking. Just pure warmth. Each stroke only makes you sink deeper into comfort that you forget you’re going to be facefucked by her in just a minute. You just try to cling on to something, and there’s nothing wrong with it.

Oh, she just broke you into pieces.

Finally, she lets go of your face, leaving you cold on the floor again. Your head rests against the chair—spent. Your spasms subside as your body finally finds its rhythm once more. Your breathing comes back to normal.

Mina smiles, before asking, “What do good boys say after they get something?”

“Thank you.” It slips off your debauched lips so easily.

“Thank you, who?” She presses into the tip of your nose lightly with a smile that just makes you melt.

“Thank you, Miss Myoi!”

The answer brings out a chuckle from Mina’s lips. She just looks so happy. “Ah, you’re close! Again, thank you, who?”

This isn’t just a quick patch, it’s a whole revamp on your brain.

“Thank you, mommy!”

It plagues your veins. It’s buried in your heart. It’s tattooed on your skin—permanent.

“Good boy.” She smiles, and you earn another ruffle in your hair.

There’s no coming back from this.

“Now, I’m going to stand up, alright? Don’t worry, mommy’s not going anywhere,” Mina says, cupping your cheek. 

“Yes, mommy,” you reply, nuzzling and whimpering against her palm.

The comfort on your face is short-lived as she stands up, and you can only whine in disappointment. She towers over you once more. Her cock dangles just a few centimeters away from your face, so slick with your filthy drool. It wants you to suck again, suck on it until your mommy cums, and you’re ready to have your breath taken away for her pleasure.

Voice still honeyed, Mina says, “Time to get up, baby boy. Time to put that mouth to use.”

In a haste, you get up to your knees again. The synthetic smell of her cock hits your nose, but you don’t feel so disgusted by it like you did mere minutes ago. Instead, you part your lips instinctively, becoming a willing boytoy for her. Your eyes look up into Mina’s eyes, begging her to bury her cock in your mouth.

“Aw, I’m so proud of you. You’re such a perfect slut for mommy, ready to suck my cock like this,” Mina praises, pushing herself forward. A smile escapes your eager lips. You’re so close to feeling her again. 

She grabs a handful of your hair, a little lighter than last time, and she guides you towards her cock. You stretch your mouth wider, readying yourself for her crushing width. Your throat relaxes. You’re going to take all of her in your mouth like a good little slut.

“Say ah,” Mina tells you.

“Ah …”

Your body doesn’t jolt the instant her tip touches your lips. You’re doing better. Her cock invades more and more of your mouth, filling it with its plastic taste, poking the back of your throat. Your body begins to shake as your breathing becomes difficult. Your eyes roll into the back of your head. The scent of her perfume and her cock fill your nostrils. And in a heartbeat, you take all of her.

At the hilt, you can barely breathe. Your eyes flutter with the overwhelming size of her cock. You can only cling on to her thighs pathetically. Her nails bury deep in your hair. The feeling, though, it’s neither rejection nor disdain. It’s acceptance and pride. You’re at peace with how your body was made for her cock. You’re at peace with how you were born to be her slut.

And you couldn’t be happier.

Suddenly, the grip in your hair tightens, making you wince around her cock in pain. Your toe curls at the nerve-snapping sensation. Your fingers dig into her thighs. She begins to grind her hips against your face. Your throat makes guttural, animalistic sounds as her tip grinds the back of it. You’ve never heard that before. Your eyes quiver with the rolling of her hips. Everything is so blurry now. Tears form in your eyes. Your nose gets squished on her waist as she moves. Your lungs are begging for air, but it's so hard to breathe. It’s suffocating. You panic.

“What’s the matter, baby boy? Can’t breathe?” Mina asks, voice so fucking full of smugness. The answer is up for your grasp, if not for the black plastic cock stuffing your mouth like this.

She continues to grind her hips against your mouth, fucking your face at a tempo only she can hear. Your breathing remains lacking in any kind of rhythm. 

Someone’s probably into it.

But not you.

Oh, and she just moaned for the first time in the evening. She grinds herself deeper, having that G-spot pleasured at a little cost of silencing that trigger-happy mouth.

“Your lack of manners won’t be tolerated, baby boy. You don’t let the adults do the talking alone.” Mina scolds, but her hips remain pressed against your ruined, spit-soaked face. She moans again, finally getting the insides of her properly fucked. The scents of her and plastic consume you like a hypnosis. She’s fucking your face, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Thankfully, she pushes your head back, leaving just her tip resting inside your mouth, and you know damn well enough to take a deep breath. It smells disgusting, blighting your lungs and blood vessels with a scorching plague, but it’s better than suffocation. Spit coats her cock, glistening it under the evening sunlight. It drips down to the floor—the first mark of filth in this office. Your eyes shoot up to Mina, who’s still giving you an infuriatingly warm smile.

She just won’t let you go so easily.

Mina laughs, still manages to keep that kind-and-loving façade after fucking your mouth open.

Twice.

She squints as she smiles, pulling your cheeks lovingly like you’re a child. Your body is still spasming, throat fucked-out. Your vision is all blurry with your tears. Your lips quiver against the head of her cock. Though, if she revels in having you like this, who are you to argue?

“That was so great, baby. Mommy’s gonna cum if you keep this up,” Mina praises, ruffling your hair fondly. You can feel warmth glowing around her body again. You know it’s a devious manipulation. You’re not supposed to fall for it, but your heart has already yielded, “and you’re going to be a cock-drunk mess by the time we’re done. How does that sound? Do you wanna make mommy cum?”

Your breathing slowly stabilizes. Your sight becomes clearer. It’s coming back. It’s your brief reprieve, and you’re cherishing every second of it, knowing how Mina can just rob it in a matter of seconds. She meets your gaze, anticipating an answer. The thought of your throat being used vigorously shouldn’t entice you this much. But with your cock twitching in your pants like this, you can only do the best you can—a whimper. 

“Aw, you’re so cute!” Mina says, pouting, pulling on your cheeks again. It’s so affectionate, so blissful, and suddenly, you feel safe with her once more. You nuzzle against her soft palm feebly, letting out a string of whimpers against the tip of her cock. The smell of the office’s hand soap fills your nostrils. Your toes are still twitching softly in the aftershocks. The remnants of her skull-fucking linger in your bones, reminding you of the woman you belong to.

“Now, say the magic word first, and I’ll fuck that mouth of yours.” Mina coos, hand cupping your cheeks. Her skin still feels so smooth against your face, so warm.

Your mind blanks against her cock. What’s the magic word?

Mina seems to notice, letting out a soft chuckle as your brain goes into request timeout. “When good boys want something, what do they say?”

Oh, that word.

“Please?”

“Please, who?” she presses. She needs you to say it. It is just overkill at this point, but you’re too broken for any kind of resistance.

“Please, mommy!”

Mina’s smile grows, satisfied with you. “Good boy!” she says, and she lets her hand run through the locks and curls of your hair. She feels how your hair brushes against her skin. She feels your warmth in her hand. She feels how you’re awfully, utterly fucking hers.

And here comes another afterlife-teasing session.

She grabs your hair—not painful, not nerve-snapping, but enough to yank your head back and forth. Your mouth is stretched open by her cock, as she ravishes your throat again. You’re pushed against her hips, forehead pressing on her taut stomach, hands gripping on her thighs. Your body convulses, fighting for air as your nose inhales nothing but the synthetic smell of her cock. Your toes curl in your shoes. Your knees hurt. Your eyes flutter. It’s a physical struggle. 

But a mental nirvana.

With her cock, it’s not an immediate fondness. The shock of seeing that strap for the first time still lingers in your head, if faintly. But with how she just slowly breaks you down from that point, it’s calculated. It’s masterful. Your brain fully knows that it’s a manipulation, a slow, torturous one, but your heart just can’t resist. The way she takes control of your head, the way her cock stabs the back of your throat, the way she praises you and degrades you, they’re just irresistible.

In short, you’re her nasty little slut.

“So hungry for mommy’s cock, aren’t you?” Mina asks, pressing you firmly against her leather. Her cock is already poking the back of your throat. It’s activating your gag reflex over and over. You make bestial, pornographic noises from your vocal chords. They echo in your ears, displacing the silence in the room, and it just fills you with an insurmountable amount of dread.

And she pulls back, leaving just the tip resting between your swollen lips. More drool falls to the floor. Your body trembles. Your toe curls. Your stomach churns.

“Look up here. I wanna see those pretty eyes while I fuck you.”

You struggle to meet her eyes, still fluttering in the mind-breaking sensations, so she tips your chin up slightly. And when you find her gaze, it’s still so full of that deceitful kindness. There’s comfort to it, just that her actions are a tad violent.

“Making eye contact with the people you talk to is important, you know? It would show that you’re giving your attention to them,” Mina says, and you just whimper feebly as a response.

“Oh, yes, fucking your mouth. Totally forgot about that.”

She plunges her length into you, stretching those cock-craving lips open. You flinch slightly. No throat poking this time, and you don’t gag as much as you did. Your grips on her thighs relax, not digging so deep as before. And she pulls back. Breathing becomes easier like this, small margin, but anything is better than suffocation. You do your absolute best to keep your eyes on hers. Another thrust, another recoil, and Mina begins to moan. 

Your mouth can be used for good, after all.

She probably finds that it would be a little bullshit to start slow, considering that she pressed your face against her waist more than twice. That’s the tempo. She yanks your head back and forth around her cock, and she’ll moan every time it stretches your mouth open—so raw, so guttural.

You wince every time she thrusts her length into your pesky mouth, but you’re adjusting to it. It’s like you have a choice, after all. You’re living with it. You place your tongue on the underside of her cock, trying not to resist, trying to make it easy for the two of you. Your hands slide up her thighs, making her moans grow louder.

“Should’ve known how to shut your fucking mouth earlier, because, god, you’re such a perfect cocksleeve,” Mina says, voice cracking a little. She’s getting weaker. She’s getting lost in pleasure, but you just can’t do shit about that—too busy sucking fake dick overtime, at least you get money for this. “Two birds with one stone, you know? Just one cock for you to shut the fuck up and for me to cum.”

You whimper weakly against her length, attempting to keep that precious eye contact. It’s hard, though, when she just keeps yanking your head back and forth like this. Your hands slide towards her backside, finding that plump, muscular ass you were dying to clap your thighs against (well, before an executive decision says that your mouth looks better when fucked).

“Yeah, I’ve heard that before. I do jump squats,” Mina huffs between the filthy moans. Your spit is out of control at this point. An entire pool forms in the suffocating space between you and her—a mark of your submission. You make desperate gagging sounds against her length. The plastic taste of it fills your mouth. Your air is her. Just her—her sweat, her plastic cock, her perfume. You fight through your tears to look her in the eyes. Oh, and it’s fucking beautiful.

Everything is fucking beautiful.

Mina’s moans begin to climb the scale. Her grip on your hair tightens, yanking you harsher than ever. Her ass clenches in your palms. Her breathing quickens. A bead of sweat falls on your head. This is it—the moment you’ve been waiting for—from the first moment you see her strap, from the first throat fucking, from the first utterance of ‘mommy’. Myoi Mina, your boss, your mommy, your fucking everything, is going to cum from fucking your face.

Put it in your résumé: Myoi Mina’s whore.

It begins with how her body stiffens, with a loud, guttural groan that escapes her mouth. You are at the tip of her cock, and you should’ve expected her to push you onto her hips, to feel her rhythm, her trembling, her unravelling. Air is knocked out of your lungs at the instant your nose is pressed against the leather. Her body arches, half-collapsing onto the edge of her desk. She can barely hold it together. Your lips are stretched around the base of her strap, savoring that disgusting plastic taste. Her ass tightens in your hands. Your gagging sounds blend with her moans. Everything is exploding.

A fracture appears. Mina’s eyes flutter in the wake of her ecstasy. Her head falls backwards as she buries herself in your face through her high. She’s lost. She’s lost in the pleasure, succumbing to the sweetness of her orgasm. It’s a reminder of her mortality. She’s not a goddess. She’s vulnerable. She can break, just like you.

But god, you would trade everything if it means that you are hers. Plus, two jobs at a single company—UI designer and your boss’ slut. 

HRs love it.

It abates, eventually. Mina catches her breath quickly, gazing down at you to watch her own destruction. Your face remains stuck to her hips, head tilting to the side just a little to gather that treasured air into your lungs. You shake, aftershocks linger. Your hands are pressed between her ass and the table. She looks at you, smiling, so proud of you. Her hands run through your hair one last time, feeling the mess she made, before dragging you off her cock. Spit falls to the ground, but you’re too exhausted to care. You get a good look at her—her eyes, her smile. She’s satisfied. She’s fulfilled. All because of you.

“You did so well for mommy,” Mina says, voice cracking a little. She cups your face lovingly, and you can’t help but to nuzzle against her palm, letting out a soft whimper. She just feels so warm, and you figure you must cling to her. You must cling to her for your dear life. “We’re halfway there already.”

Halfway there.

One hole down, one more to go.

Anything for your mommy.

—

[blueivyy99]

Calm and Serenity

Sylus x Non!Mc

summary: you didn't know what sylus saw in you. he said you were calm, quiet and serene and that's what he needs. you believed it. he showed it. not until little miss hunter came. she's everything you're not. news that she's in danger can make the ever so calm sylus to run and leave everything behind. it made you think, would he do that for you as well?

tags: angst, romance, hurt and comfort, confused sylus, non-mc reader (this is it for now)

note: thank you for the love in the previous chapter 🥹

Link to Part 1

It's been a month or two since the last time you've been with Sylus. It saddens you that the time you get to spend together is cut short, only seeing each other at night when he pleases to have dinner or greet you goodnight.

You asked Luke and Kieran about what's happening, but they don't know either. They just know it has something to do with Miss Hunter, about Aether Core, about something that you have very little knowledge about. You mentally noted to search about it later.

“He is very grumpy lately,” Luke said, "He was glaring at us like he wants to skin us alive whenever me and my twin are being a little louder than normal.”

"The only one safe from his anger is Miss Hunter,” Kieran added. "I don't appreciate that Boss is playing favorites in our team.”

You tried not to let out a shaky breath. Luke noticed and he had to elbow Kieran to make him shut up.

"Sorry, Y/N.”

You gave him a small smile. "It's okay. I'll try and catch Sylus one of these days. I'll talk to him.”

The twins scurry away while arguing. They think they offended you and they are passing on the blame with each other.

On normal days, it's not easy to get you offended but lately, every little thing just makes you … sensitive.

Maybe it started when you wanted that crow brooch that is neatly placed on Sylus's table …

When you asked him for it he just said, “It's for Miss Hunter,"

He took it from your hand. Albeit gently, it still weighed heavy in your heart.

You know you don't always get your way but with the little seeds of jealousy slowly growing in your heart, it's easy to feel hurt and feel neglected.

You just wanted that damn brooch and you know that he can buy another piece. Or even make you a custom-made one, one that is more inclined on your taste.

You took a deep breath.

Sylus is stressed. You know that and it's not right to add more to his burden. It's just a brooch after all.

“I-I didn't know, but when you have the time to grab one, remember me, okay?” you said.

"Next time, sweetie.” He replied and quickly went back to reading reports.

You don't know if he took your words seriously, but you have enough faith in him to trust that he did.

Or maybe the disappointment started when you wanted to go to Linkon.

There's a newly opened arcade shop that you're really itching to go.

Normally, Sylus would agree and watch you play. He's not the best when it comes to the claw machine, anyway.

So imagine your surprise when he rejected your offer. Not only that, the answer that followed chipped away at your heart little by little.

“Me and Miss Hunter already went there. It's not as fun as the other ones you've tried. You're just gonna waste your time there. Not even new plushies,” he even had the audacity to roll his eyes at that.

It seemed like he didn't think before speaking or he didn't see anything wrong with what he said.

Truthfully, there is none. The logical part of you knows he didn't say anything wrong. But for fuck's sake! Really telling your girlfriend that you went to the arcade with another woman? That's new. That's not something she expected of Sylus.

“You went with her?" you asked. You're anticipating his answer. Praying it's something logical. Something acceptable.

Please tell me it has something to do with those missions.

He looked at you, trying to see what's in your mind but you didn't show anything. Blocking any negative emotions from seeping on the cracks of your face. You tried to look as curious and as genuine as you can be.

Thankfully, he believed that.

“Yes. We went there after getting some intel around the area. She dragged me inside and she played until her heart's content. I remembered she went home with that crow plushie with a bib. She looked happy,"

You almost wanted to scoff at his face. You wanted that plushe as well, he seemed to forget about that. If it's only about the plushie maybe you can push down these negative feelings but here he is looking so endeared while saying that. As if he's not talking to his girlfriend.

Patience. Patience.

“I see. Good for her.” you said. "I also want that crow stuffed toy. Good thing to know they have them."

You tried giving him a hint. It's not like you to make anyone guess what's on your mind.

But then there's silence. And a beep on his phone. He tore his gaze away from you and your statement long forgotten.

At that point, you're holding yourself together trying not to scream and yell at him.

Maybe that's where it started. Maybe it's when you know that the distractions were not just caused by the missions but by Miss Hunter herself.

==

You sighed. It's evening and Sylus is still nowhere to be found. You texted him but you're met with silence. You wanted to call, but you hesitated. It feels like you don't have the right to do it.

Worry starts gnawing at you when Luke and Kieran hurriedly go out. They didn't even have the chance to say a proper goodbye.

Minutes kept ticking, and you heard it.

Explosions.

Your heart stopped and you wanted to run to where it was because something tells you that Sylus is there. He's in danger.

But before you can even step out of the base, Sylus's men stopped you.

“Boss’s orders to not let the Madame go out when the mission is in full swing. Please wait for him here."

You wanted to pull your hair out. You're trembling with worry but anywhere you go, someone will stop you. You can't even sneak out because that will surely trigger the alarms.

With a heavy heart you slumped on the couch.

“Fucking hell, Sylus what is happening when are you coming home!” you muttered to yourself.

You kept pacing and pacing every second seemed to last a lifetime.

Until the door opened.

And there he was, shirt torn, hair deshiveled and a few scratches on his body.

"Thank God you're alive!” you exclaimed and caught his heavy body before he lost consciousness.

"Sylus? Sylus!” you tried shaking him, but he won't wake up.

You settled him on the couch and grabbed the nearest first aid kit you can reach. Sylus might have the fastest regeneration in the world but it won't ease your worries about the small cuts that still remains on his body.

You tried suppressing your tears seeing him like this but you just can't. As you press the cotton on his cuts, you can't help but open your mouth and nag him about being careless.

“I know you think that this body is invincible, but please be careful! You need to come home to me. You have to come home to me. No matter how I'm annoyed at you right now, you don't have the rights to make me worry like this.”

“What's so important in that mission that you exhaust yourself like this? What's so important about Miss Hunter that you're willing to do such great lengths?"

You know that he can't hear you, but still you talked to him until you calmed down and ask his men to help you settle him in bed after changing him. You called the physician to check him up for anything. You kept yourself busy to shrugg of the nerves but those questions still linger in your head.

Sylus is a strategist even though he looks smug and arrogant. He carefully plans everything and tries to move in quiet only letting the results speak for themselves.

But this? This is not the usual.

Explosions everywhere and declaring a full on war with his enemies is not his style. You know that there's nothing really beneficial for him in this deal with Miss Hunter.

You managed to understand a bit about what their goals are. Getting that Aether core for Miss Hunter.

Tough mission, yes. But Sylus won't grab it if he won't benefit from it. And that's what you're left puzzled with. Sylus is a businessman, everything should be give and take.

So? What's in it for him?

==

You didn't expect the answer to voluntarily come to you. You went to his study to look for something or anything that you can help him with now that he's still unconscious when you stumbled upon a journal.

You thought it was not Sylus's. You never see him as someone who will write down his thoughts but you were dead wrong.

You opened it expecting it to be a list of things related to Onychinus, but you were greeted with phrases, sentences and some sketches about Miss Hunter.

You read each of them, it was a jumble of words. You almost thought it was a fairytale.

Past lives.

Dragon and Sorceress.

Kindred Spirits.

Energy Linkage.

Sweet Evil Trap.

All of it is too much. Too much for your poor little heart to take. And from what you understood, Miss Hunter is from his past. Someone who has a part of his soul.

Someone he waits for.

And the bitter realization although still unfounded, you concluded that maybe she's someone he still loves.

But what about you? What's your place in the grand scheme of things?

“I’m keeping you around because you’re still useful.”

Those lines ring in your ears. Sylus always say that to everyone but you. You thought that maybe you are an exception. That you're not someone disposable to him because you matter.

And as you soak up all the information that you knew, you started to doubt yourself as well.

note: aaackkk thank u for reading lemme know your thoughts! Part 3 soonest!

[eraserbread]

older bf nanami😍😍😍😍😍😍🤤🤤🤤🤤

*rubs hands together like a devious fly*

➽─────────────────────────────❥

43 was an eventful year for nanami... fresh out of a decade-long marriage and fitted with the shiny new title of CFO. he just bought a skyrise apartment in cold, hard, cash and slept in maid-pressed sheets every night.

the best part is, his workload was nearly nonexistent. sure, he's sent a few documents to sign and look over, but the most hours he's pulled since the promotion was less than four in a day. truly a life well-earned.

so, now he spends his thursday mornings tucked against you -- his gorgeous twenty-one-year-old girlfriend, naked, snoozing in the canyon between your breasts.

you're both completely bare from a night well spent and glued to each other by the hip. he loves you, you love him, and his stuffed pockets and superior generosity were only the icing on the cake. there was no part of you that equates him to his wealth, but it's nice not having to want for anything.

it's like god was with you when you accepted that mid-year internship at his company. as a finance student, there's nothing you could learn on paper that you couldn't learn better in person.

and nanami was the best teacher. so thorough, stoic, and strict. It's easy to daydream about him and his greying roots. him and his deep chuckle and eyebrow quirk.

if the perfect older man existed, he'd have that title.

you two wake up halfway to noon, sliding out of bed with his long arm tangled around you.

"this internship is paid, but i don't claim taxes on it, right? since I'm a student?" you have no idea why that's what you dreamt of when you just had your body ravaged the night before, but it was.

"good morning to you, too." nanami yawns, sitting with his back to you on the other side of the bed. "yes, you claim taxes on it."

"then, can you give me a raise?"

"if i give you a raise, they'll just pull more money out. what's wrong, kid, you short on money? I can just make up the 10% in cash."

you're so close to saying yes, but you didn't care that much about the money. it was just on your mind when you fell asleep and you wouldn't stop thinking about it until you asked him.

then, he looks at you over his shoulder, bedhead all out of place and dark eyes shadowed. it makes you bite over your lip and say things you don't mean to say.

"yeah, i want the money. but, i also want you, right now."

you're crawling back over the bed, he's turning around to meet your touch. "no. money or sex. what kind of man do you think I am?"

you mumble, pressing your lips to the edge of his jaw. after all, you have to give to get. "a very generous one," you purr.

"i'm serious." he has you by the throat, applying just enough pressure to make your pretty eyes flutter shut. you're sitting over your heels, brows furrowing when your arousal starts to drip down through your legs.

nanami is not shy when it comes to handling you accordingly. he always has a comfortably tight hand around your neck, shoulders, or between your legs.

and that morning he keeps his hand pressed to your throat when he fucks you in full nelson. he's whispering filthy shit in your ear, only moving from the choke when you let your knees fall and he has to slap you back to your senses.

he's spent all of his good years envisioning his inner sex addict, now he's living it. you can keep up with him and you love it when he treats you like this.

more fingers in your mouth, more hands in your hair, more degrading, filthy names.

all for him to smile at your fucked-out, sweaty figure when he's done and call you beautiful.

[sturnioz]

☆. . . YOU'VE ALWAYS BEEN CLOSE with your best friend, matt.

ever since you were little kids, you've been inseparable. you did everything together—bike rides through the neighbourhood until the sun sets, sneaking snacks at sleepovers in the garden, sharing secrets no one else could ever know.

family and friends always assumed you were dating, sharing knowing smiles and raising eyebrows, only for utter disbelief to take over their expressions when you corrected them:

you're just best friends.

you and matt would hold holds without hesitation, fingers intertwined tightly. you'd cuddle up on cold nights, wrapped in the same blanket, pressed close for warmth. sometimes you shared the same bed, falling asleep holding each other close.

but it's fine. it's completely normal.

you're just best friends.

you'd take turns planning out your days together—movie nights, midnight drives, road trips with no particular destination in mind, camping under the stars, and even renting a secluded cabin to escape the boredom of adulthood.

you're just best friends.

at every event—prom, birthday parties, weddings, family get togethers—you were each other's constant plus-ones. people would whisper or smirk, nudging each other knowingly, but you'd both shrug it off.

you're just best friends.

matt trusted you with everything, and you trusted him. he'd confide in you about his problems: his job, his family, even the women he dated. he'd tell you things he couldn't tell anyone else—his fears, his struggles, his loneliness, his sexual need, and you always listened to him.

you're just best friends.

sometimes, it's harder to ignore the way your heart thumps when he smiles. the way his laugh can light up a room and make your chest ache in the sweetest way. the way his eyes crinkle at the edges when he's amused, or how they darken when he's deep in thought. how his tongue licks his bottom lip when he's concentrating—it's a small habit, but it leaves you feeling something.

you're just best friends.

"fuck... you're so pretty," matt groans against your mouth, his hands gripping your hips as he pulls you closer, allowing his cock to sink further into your gummy walls as he presses his lips harder against yours.

you're just best friends.

"don't stop," you plead, your head falling back against the bathroom mirror as your legs tighten around his hips. "p-please don't stop."

matt drops his lips down to your neck, alternating between open-mouth kisses and nibbles as he rocks into your cunt, grunting as your nails scratch down his back to ground yourself, creating sore, red lines in your path.

you're just best friends.

matt raises his head from your neck, drawing his hands up from your hips to caress your cheek, panting heavily against your mouth before kissing you again, sliding his tongue between your lips.

you moan weakly into the kiss, your lungs burning for air as you roll your hips to meet his pace, clinging to him tightly.

"fuck, m'close," he whispers between kisses, his thrusts stuttering as you twist your fingers into his tousled hair and pull, squeezing your gummy walls around his pulsing cock nestled deep within.

you're just best friends.

matt holds you close as his body stills, slumping his head against your shoulder as his cum spills inside you in hot spurts, filling you up just as he promised a few moments prior to this happening.

you coo softly as you rerun your fingers through his hair and massage the back of his neck, helping him come down from his high while he lazily slots his lips back on yours once again, muttering affections against your mouth as he caressing your skin.

you're never going to be just best friends.

divider credits. @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more.

© STURNIOZ.

[keeryhours]

teen pregnancy series - steve harrington part 1

Steve Harrington x female! reader

Main Masterlist

Teen Pregnancy Series Masterlist

Steve Harrington Masterlist

Summary:

You find yourself pregnant with your best friend Nancy’s boyfriend’s baby after a drunken mistake.

Part 2

Warnings:

Smut (18+), unprotected p in v, oral sex (f receiving), pregnancy, angst, sort of cheating but not really

Word Count: 11.7k

A/N:

I have worked SO HARD on this fic y’all. I really wanted to post the whole thing (27k words) but tumblr wouldn’t let me. So here we have part 1! Part 2 will be out tomorrow! I also want to give a big shoutout to my bestie @punkrockmlchael for the banner and for my friends and beta readers @glassbxttless @lesservillain @fizzing-imagines @the-witty-pen-name!

‘King’ Steve Harrington never paid any attention to you until he started dating your best friend, Nancy Wheeler. It had been a surprise when he asked her out - you, Nancy, and Barb had been quiet and stayed off to yourselves. You were a tight knit friend group, but certainly not popular. So when Steve asked Nancy out, you and Barb had been skeptical.

“Are you sure he has the best intentions?” Barb asked. “Because it’s Steve Harrington. He goes through girls like crazy.”

“Agreed,” you added. “I’m suspicious.”

“Guys, he’s actually really nice!” Nancy always defended him. “And it’s not even that serious. We just made out once…or twice.”

You and Barb exchanged a look. You didn’t really believe Steve had changed. You feared your best friend was going to get her heart broken, badly.

“What do you guys have in common anyway?” Barb asked. “He’s not, you know…exactly an honor student.”

“Barb!” Nancy scolded with a laugh. “He’s actually really sweet and funny. And a good kisser.”

You and Barb got lost in a fit of giggles at that. It was the first time any of you were having any kind of experience with a guy. The three of you were always overlooked by the guys of Hawkins High, but you didn’t really mind. There were more important things than high school relationships. It was a little exciting, though.

“So is he your boyfriend yet?” You asked, a teasing smile on your face.

“No,” Nancy said, blushing. “I don’t know if he-“

You were all surprised when Steve came seemingly out of nowhere, wrapping his arms around Nancy and making her squeal as he lifted her off the ground. It was sickeningly sweet.

“Steve!” She mock scolded him as he sat her down, and she playfully slapped his chest.

“What? I haven’t seen you in forever,” Steve said, suave grin on his handsome face.

“It’s been like 2 hours,” Nancy laughed.

“Tell me about it,” Steve said, pulling her in for a kiss. You and Barb looked away, feeling awkward.

Finally Steve acknowledged the two of you, giving you both a polite smile. “Sorry. Can I steal Nance for a few?”

Before either of you could say anything, Steve was leading a giggling Nancy away, leaving you and Barb alone. 

“I just hope she doesn’t forget about us,” Barb said.

—

“Steve wants us to go to Tina’s halloween party,” Nancy said at her locker before lunch. You and Barb exchanged a look.

“All of us?” You asked, skeptically.

“Yes, all of us,” Nancy said, attempting to reassure you both. “I wouldn’t want to go at all if you guys couldn’t come.”

“It’s not exactly…our scene,” Barb said. Her brows were furrowed as she pushed her glasses higher on her nose. “I don’t know if they really want us there, Nance.”

“Who cares?” Nancy said. “We should just go and be stupid teenagers and have fun for once.”

It took some convincing, Barb more than you, but finally you agreed to go together. You picked out a costume - a short, sexy red dress with devil horns on your head. You thought about someone maybe being interested in you at the party - you had to admit to yourself that you were a little jealous of Nancy’s relationship with Steve. It got lonely, sometimes.

Steve was picking all three of you up. Your house was the first on the way, so he picked you up first. You felt nervous as you walked down the driveway and got into the passenger seat of Steve’s car.

“Hey,” he greeted you, giving you his usual charming smile. You definitely understood what Nancy saw in him - Steve was handsome. “You look great.”

“You too,” you said, and he did. He and Nancy had gone with a couples costume - Risky Business - and he looked very good. He had a pair of sunglasses stuck in the front of his black shirt.

You mostly rode in silence on the way to the Wheeler’s house, Steve’s radio playing softly in the background. When Nancy came walking out of the house, Steve’s face lit up, and something in you sunk as you climbed out to slide into the back seat.

You felt a little better when you picked up Barb and she joined you in the back, making you feel less like an awkward third wheel. She was dressed like a librarian, which was honestly very normal for her.

The party was already in full swing when you arrived. You and Barb trailed behind Steve and Nancy into the house, following them straight to the punch bowl. Steve made a drink for all three of you. Barb took a tiny sip of hers, making a face. You tried yours, but it wasn’t too bad. Strong, though.

The party was less painful than you’d feared. You mostly stayed off to the side with Barb, drinking on your own. You watched the partygoers dance together, including Steve and Nancy, and you longed to join them. But you couldn’t bring yourself to.

At some point you lost your friends, leaving you standing in the kitchen alone. Nancy and Steve had disappeared into a bathroom, Nancy wiping at a big red punch stain on the front of her shirt. You’d watched them go, wondering what happened between them.

You continued sipping at your drink, watching the party rage on around you. The alcohol was making you less self conscious and more loose, but you still couldn’t bring yourself to join in. You wished you could. You wondered what it would like to be popular, or even to just be a normal teenage girl.

It wasn’t long before you spotted Nancy again, drunk as hell and angry.

“Where are you going?” You asked her as she drunkenly stormed through the party with Jonathan Byers and Barb trailing behind her.

“Home,” she slurred, stumbling over her own feet. You were too drunk to properly question it, simply watching as she left with Jonathan and Barb in tow. Jonathan seemed sober, at least. No one asked you if you wanted a ride, too. You figured you would ‘enjoy’ the party a little longer, figure out how you were getting home later.

You turned around and walked right into Steve Harrington.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, looking way more upset than the last time you’d seen him. He looked like he might have been crying, his eyes red rimmed.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” You asked, looking him over with concern.

He shook his head. “Nothing. It’s…it’s nothing.”

“Doesn’t seem like nothing,” you said softly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Steve considered your offer. He didn’t know if he wanted to talk about Nancy right now, but getting back to the party didn’t sound like much fun either. He also didn’t really want to go home and be alone. “Sure. Okay.”

That’s how you ended up alone in a bedroom with Steve, sitting awkwardly next to each other on Tina’s parents’ bed. Steve sighed, rubbing his hands on his thighs.

“Me and Nancy…I don’t know,” he started, like he couldn’t find his words. “I know she’s your best friend. I’m not trying to say anything bad about her. I love her. But I think we might be over.”

“Why do you think that?” You asked softly. You knew Nancy really liked Steve. This was their first real argument, and it seems like it was a big one.

“She just…” he sighed again. “She said we’re bullshit. What does that even mean? That she doesn’t love me?”

“I don’t think that’s true,” you said. “Nancy really cares about you-“

“But does she love me?” He gestured with his hand then let it flop onto his lap in defeat. “I don’t know. I don’t think she does. I don’t know why she would.”

“What do you mean?” You furrowed your brows at him. “Why wouldn’t she?”

“Because I’m…” He gestured again, like he didn’t know how to articulate what he was trying to say. “I’m me. I’m an asshole. I’m dumb. I care too much about being popular. She’s too good for me.”

“Steve, that’s not true,” you said, laying your hand over his. “You’re an incredible person. I mean, sure you have a reputation, but since you’ve dated Nancy I’ve gotten to see some of the real you, and…I like the real Steve.”

He slowly looked up at you. “You do?”

“Yeah, of course I do.” You smiled gently. “I like the real Steve a lot.”

Steve’s eyes searched yours. His gaze darted down to your lips for only a second before meeting your eyes again. Then he leaned in, pressing his lips to yours.

You were shocked at first, your eyes going wide. But you quickly melted into his kiss - it felt so right. Steve moaned against your lips as he deepened the kiss and you grabbed onto his shirt, pulling him closer to you. The kiss turned heated fast, Steve’s tongue slipping into your mouth and pressing against your own. Your tongues danced together in a sloppy rhythm, your kisses hungry and desperate for one another.

His hands trailed under your dress, feeling the smooth skin of your plush thighs, one hand sliding between your legs to tease you through your panties. You gasped - you’d never been touched there before. It was new, exciting. You were wet already, and Steve could feel it.

“Wet for me?” He mumbled against your lips, nipping at your bottom lip and making you gasp. “I can feel you.”

You blushed deeply, feeling ashamed. What if he didn’t like it? What if he thought it was gross?

He didn’t seem like he thought it was gross. He seemed like he liked it. He pressed against something that had you moaning against his mouth, your grip on his shirt tightening. 

“Have you ever been touched before?” He asked, hand slipping beneath your panties. His fingers traced between your folds, collecting your wetness on his fingers before he started rubbing against that bundle of nerves again.

“No,” you admitted, your voice shaky. “Never.”

“I’ll be gentle,” he promised. “You’re so pretty, you know that?”

You didn’t know that. No guy had ever said that to you before. You thankfully didn’t have to say anything because Steve pressed his lips to yours again, kissing any words away. It felt weird to have his tongue pressing against your own, the way his hands grabbed at you, like he wanted you.

“Can I take this off?” He asked quietly, pulling at your red dress. You heart thundered in your chest, wondering what was going to happen, if you were really about to lose your virginity to Steve Harrington. Who was your best friend’s boyfriend - or, used to be.

You nodded, and Steve smiled, pushing you back onto the bed. He climbed over you, slowly kissing from your legs upwards as he pushed the dress higher and higher. You were shaking, nervous even through the haze of the alcohol. But his touch was so nice, it felt so good, you wanted to keep going.

He pushed the dress over your head until you were left in nothing but your bra and panties, suddenly horrifically self conscious. You crossed your arms over your body on instinct.

Steve gently grabbed your arms, moving them down. “You’re beautiful,” he said. “You don’t have to hide from me. I love your body.”

He sat up then, removing his shirt. His chest was muscular, and he had a lot of chest hair. It was hot, manly. You rubbed over his chest, feeling the ridges of his muscles, the skin beneath your touch. He shivered on instinct, a low moan coming from his lips.

You could feel how hard he was from where he was pressed against your thigh. He grinded against you, moaning, and you felt scared - he seemed big. You didn’t know how you were going to take him - you’d never taken anybody before, and Steve seemed like an advanced place to start.

He reached behind your back and unhooked your bra, removing it completely. His lips found your nipple right away and you let out a mix between a gasp and a moan - it was unexpected and new, but it felt good. Steve sucked on it, running his tongue around it, making you arch your back into his mouth. His hand played with your other nipple until he switched, giving them both attention.

When he was done, he kissed down your chest and stomach, back down to your panties. He hooked his fingers in the waistband, looking up at you. “Can I?”

You looked at him. “Can you what?”

Steve chuckled. “Taste you?”

You didn’t really know what he meant by that. “Um, sure?”

Steve smiled at you, then he pulled your panties down your legs. You felt infinitely more exposed now - no one had ever seen you there before. There were a lot of firsts tonight. Steve spread your legs, and you would have been embarrassed if he hadn’t groaned at the sight.

He lowered himself between your legs, and you gasped loudly when you felt Steve’s tongue between your folds. He groaned again as he began to devour you, sucking at your clit and running his tongue over it.

The feeling was like nothing you’d ever experienced in your life. You moaned uncontrollably, hands shooting down to tangle in Steve’s hair. He moaned against your pussy as he ate you, loving every moment of it.

Steve was grinding his hips against the bed, his cock rock hard and aching beneath his pants. He lapped up every bit of wetness you gave him, you were the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted. 

“Christ,” he moaned against you, truly burying his face into you and breathing in your scent. “You taste so good. I can’t get enough.”

You were losing your mind. Pitchy moans spilling from your lips, body writhing on the bed. Whatever he was doing was incredible, it made your body feel like it was full of electricity, a coil tightening deep in your belly.

“Steve…Steve…” you moaned, pulling on his locks. You started grinding yourself against his face, desperate for more more more, desperate for him to never stop. You thought you might die if he did.

You felt something pressing against your entrance, making you jump. “What…what are you…?”

“Jus’ getting you ready,” he hummed against you. “‘s okay?”

You were too out of it to think much about it. “Um…yes.”

You gasped loudly at the intrusion of his finger pressing inside you. You’d never even done this to yourself before, the feeling completely foreign. Weird, but good. He slowly pumped his finger in and out of you, you were so wet there was hardly any resistance.

You were so lost in the pleasure he was giving you that you barely noticed when he began pushing a second finger inside. But suddenly you were even more full, his fingers curling deep inside you and pressing against something that had you moaning his name even louder.

“Steve! Oh, fuck-“

“That’s it,” he moaned against you, “just like that. You gonna cum for me?”

You whined in response, shaking hand tightening in his hair. He chuckled, moving back to suck on your clit again and sending you reeling. He pumped his fingers faster and faster, your back arching off the bed as your vision began going white.

“Oh, god- fuck! Steve, ohmygod, holy shit-“

Steve put his all into it as your orgasm hit you, working you through the most mind blowing experience of your life. How was he so good? You felt like you’d died and gone to heaven.

“That’s it, baby, cum f’me,” he encouraged you, but as the orgasm intensified you began grinding against his tongue, shutting him up happily. He moaned against you, sending vibrations through your clit.

He rode you through it until you couldn’t take it anymore, until you were pushing him away and he was grinning with the confidence only King Steve could possess. You suddenly understood the nickname.

He kissed up your body, working his way back up to your lips. He quickly undid his pants, shoving them and his boxers down his legs. You were right - he was huge. He wrapped a hand around his massive cock, slowly stroking it as he looked down at your body.

“Fuckin’ beautiful,” he slurred, and he wobbled a bit as he sat up on his knees. The room felt like it was tilting back and forth, like you were on a boat. It was not helping the nausea building in your stomach.

Steve spread your legs, settling himself between them. He grinded his cock through your folds, coating it in your wetness as he nipped and sucked at your neck. “Y’ready?”

“Uh…yeah,” you said, holding onto Steve’s shoulders. It made you feel safer somehow.

His thick tip pressed against your entrance, and you let out a loud gasp as he pushed through, stretching you around his cock. Your nails dug into his back, making him hiss as he slowly pushed deeper inside.

“Fuck. You are so tight.” His breath was coming out in huffs of hot air against the skin of your neck, quiet moans beginning to spill from his lips as he bullied his cock further into you. “Shit. You can take it. I know y’can take it. Just let me in, baby.”

You tried your best to relax your muscles, trying to just lose yourself to the feeling and let Steve have you. It was starting to feel good, the deeper he filled you the more full you felt. It was unlike anything you’d ever felt.

Steve moaned loudly into your neck once he bottomed out, pumping into you shallowly a few times before he pulled farther back, slapping his hips into you. You let out a mix between a gasp and a moan, your eyes squeezing shut.

“You okay?” he asked, but it was obvious in his expression that he was desperate to keep going.

“I’m okay,” you said. “You can keep going.”

Steve smiled down at you before pressing his lips to yours again and setting a quick pace fucking into you. The sounds of your skin meeting and the bed - Tina’s parents’ bed - creaking from Steve’s movements filled the large bedroom. You worried people would be able to hear you from the hall.

“That’s it, that’s it,” Steve praised, his fingers digging into the plush of your thighs. “So good f’me. You’re such a good girl, aren’t you, baby?”

You whined in response, brain complete mush as Steve fucked you and the room spun around. You closed your eyes, hoping to calm the situation.

Steve pushed your legs up higher, pressing your thighs into your body and spreading your legs wide. This allowed him to get way deeper than before, and now he was letting out desperate moans, losing himself in the pleasure of you.

“Shit…I’m gonna cum,” he said as his thrusts became sloppy and fast, his cheeks, neck, and chest flushing red. “Fuuuck, I’m gonna cum. Fuck, are you gonna take it, baby?”

“Mmhmm,” you hummed, not even processing the question. There were no thoughts of condoms, no thoughts of pulling out even. Neither of you thinking, Steve neared his release inside you, holding onto you tightly.

“Take it, take it,” he cried out, biting down on your neck as he let out one last guttural groan, spilling his cum into you, every last drop as he rode out his high. You held onto him, feeling all of him.

Steve’s chest was heaving with his breaths as he pushed up on his arms, placing a kiss to your lips before he pulled out, collapsing on his back. You didn’t know what to say. You just laid there for a few minutes until Steve eventually rolled over to the side of the bed, standing and pulling his clothes back on. He tossed you your dress and you used it to cover your body, suddenly feeling self conscious.

“Let’s get you home, yeah?” he said as he slipped his shoes back on. “It’s been a long night.”

—

The next Monday, Steve and Nancy walked into school hand in hand. Your heart stopped in your chest at the sight, guilt eating you from the inside out. You tried not to get sick over it as you went through your day, until you got to talk to Nancy and Barb at your lockers.

“He came to my house with flowers,” Nancy said, smiling. “He said he was sorry and he didn’t want to be without me.”

“Aww!” Barb said, hand over her heart. “That’s so cute. He really cares about you.”

“Yeah,” was all you could add, because you knew you were the worst friend on the planet.

You were even more surprised later that day when someone grabbed your arm on the way to lunch. You turned to see Steve, looking at you seriously. “Can we talk?”

You hadn’t seen Steve since he’d been inside of you, you know, taking your virginity, a couple days ago, and that was the only thing going through your mind at that moment. “Um, yeah, sure.”

Steve led you down the hall and into the library, opening the door for you to one of the study rooms. You followed him inside and he shut the door, turning to you with an expression that told you how stressed out he was.

“Look,” he said, “about Tina’s party - what we did - I’m sorry. We shouldn’t have done that. I…really care about Nancy, and I don’t want to hurt her. I want to be with her.”

You just listened to him speak, his words only intensifying the ache in your chest. You knew it was coming, but it still hurt. You didn’t say anything, waiting for Steve to continue.

“I just don’t want this to get out,” he said slowly. “So…is it okay if we keep this between us? Never to repeat or be talked about?” He looked at you hopefully, praying you would keep the secret.

“Oh,” you said. “Sure. I won’t tell.”

“Awesome,” Steve said, breathing out a sigh of relief. “You know, it would just hurt Nance if she knew. And it’s never going to happen again, so there’s no point in her knowing, right?”

You weren’t sure you truly agreed, but you nodded along anyway. “Okay.”

“Good.” Steve smiled softly at you. His large hand rubbed your upper arm. “Thanks for understanding.”

The rest of the school day was extremely awkward - at least for you. Nancy and Barb were totally oblivious to what you’d done, and Steve was acting like he barely knew you.

You wondered if this was something he’d done before - taking girls’ virginity’s and then acting like it never happened, leaving them behind. When you slept together, you hadn’t exactly thought you and Steve would be together after (well, you were drunk so you weren’t thinking much at all), but you didn’t think he’d just go back to Nancy like nothing happened.

Something about it stung.

And they stayed together. This wasn’t the fling you had originally warned Nancy it might be. They seemed really into each other, which was really unfortunate for you, because you realized something that left you horrified.

You had developed feelings for Steve Harrington.

You always thought it was bullshit when they said in church as a kid that every time you have sex with someone you give a piece of yourself away, but you had truly given Steve a piece of yourself you couldn’t get back. But he hadn’t done the same for you.

Maybe it was different for guys? Or maybe you were just an idiot who fell for her best friend’s boyfriend after having sex with him.

It was hard to look Nancy or even Barb in the eye at all. Steve may have been able to forget what you did, but you couldn’t. You had betrayed your lifelong best friend. How were you supposed to keep this to yourself? You didn’t deserve their friendship.

Of course Nancy noticed your extreme self loathing - she was always perceptive. Steve’s just lucky he was better at lying than you.

“Are you okay?” She asked you after school one day while you and Barb were studying in her bedroom. “You seem upset lately.”

Oh, god. It was going to come out. You were going to blow it.

“I’ve just been kinda sad,” you said. “Just…stressed with college applications coming up.”

“Oh yeah, me too,” Barb said, a weary sigh coming from deep in her chest. “I’m worried I don’t have the grades. I want to go to Emerson with you guys, but I don’t have an extra curricular either.”

You were grateful as the conversation easily transitioned into college applications and the upcoming test in Mrs. O’Donnells. Your brain was elsewhere.

Not only were you consumed with guilt, but also the memory of Steve all over you, his hands, his mouth, his cock-

“Are we still having our movie night this weekend?” Barb asked a bit later as you were all preparing to leave.

“Oh,” Nancy said sheepishly, a blush rising to her pale cheeks. “Actually, Steve planned a surprise date this weekend. I’m not sure what we’re doing, but…” she giggled. “I don’t know. He might want to do more.”

Your head snapped up then. “You guys haven’t had sex yet?”

Nancy blushed even deeper. “No. I’ve been nervous. I want it to be with the right person at the right time. But I think we might this weekend.”

You felt sick. Not only had Steve slept with you before Nancy - your best friends couldn’t even know you’d lost your virginity - but now he was probably going to actually have sex with her. You wanted to say something, to stop it, but what could you say?

Nothing.

So you watched Nancy gushing about Steve and pretended it wasn’t killing you inside, pretending like you didn’t have feelings for him and never had. You were pretty good at pretending, after all.

—

It had been two months since the hookup when you started getting sick. You assumed it was a stomach bug at first, to the point that you let your mom take you to the doctor - only to get the biggest news of your life.

“You’re pregnant,” the doctor said, and you were suddenly grateful you’d told your mom you didn’t need her to go back with you.

The news had sent you reeling. There in the doctor’s office, your head spun, your vision dotting like you might pass out. Because this could not be happening. There was only one potential father, and he couldn’t be, he was with Nancy, you couldn’t do this-

The doctor gave you pamphlets on your different options, which you hastily stuffed into your bag. You weren’t ready to tell your parents about this yet. When you walked out of the office and your mom asked what the doctor said, all you could say was “Nothing, just a virus.”

“Did they give you any medicine?”

Yeah, a prescription for prenatal vitamins. “No, mom.”

Your mom looked worried. “Maybe we should go somewhere for a second opinion, you’ve been so sick it’s not normal-“

“Mom, I’m really fine,” you attempted to assure her. Please, you were not ready to come out with this yet. To anyone.

“I’m just worried,” she said, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I don’t want you to be sick.”

“I promise I’m okay.” You gave her the most encouraging smile you could muster. “I’m feeling better today already.”

That was not true. You were getting sicker by the day, the “morning sickness” (more like all day sickness) kicking your ass. You knew this was your fault, but you still found yourself mad at Steve. Both of you had drunkenly agreed to sex without a condom, so it wasn’t really fair to put the blame on him, but when you were on your knees in front of the toilet for the 15th time that day, you didn’t care much about fair.

You were utterly panicked over the idea of being pregnant. What did this mean for your future? College? Falling in love one day? What guy your age wants to settle down with a step kid?

You considered abortion, but ultimately decided not to. Adoption was also considered, but you figured this was your baby, and you wanted to keep it. You felt bonded to it. Like whatever came, you were in this together.

What about Steve? How would he feel about this? Not good, you could imagine. He was still going strong with Nancy, and- 

Oh god, Nancy.

She would never forgive you. Your friendship was over. You ruined everything. Barb would probably hate you, too. You would be friendless, boyfriendless, and pregnant.

Great. Good decisions, you thought to yourself.

You kept the news to yourself for weeks. You couldn’t bear to tell a single soul. Who could you tell? No one would be happy for you. Every person you had to tell would end in disaster.

It was weird, seeing Steve with Nancy, happy and like you never even existed, while you carried his child. You felt an internal longing towards him, like maybe the baby knew who their father was. Which was crazy, because it was still only cells working to become a human being.

You had your first ultrasound before you told anyone. You borrowed the car and drove yourself, stomach in knots as you waited in the waiting room. The ultrasound itself was uncomfortable - you always thought of them like they were in the movies, the little wand on your belly, but they explained that this early they usually do an internal ultrasound, which is just as unpleasant as it sounds.

You watched as the image showed up on the screen. The tiny little vaguely human shaped blob, wiggling around in there - inside of you. Alive. The tech took measurements, and you even heard the heartbeat. It took your breath away. You wondered what Steve would think if he knew, if he’d been there to experience it.

The tech said you were 9 weeks pregnant, due in July, which lined up perfectly with Halloween night. Not that there were any other possibilities. She printed you a bunch of photos, showing the tiny baby from multiple different angles.

As you left with the photos clutched in your hand, you wondered how long you had before you were forced to come clean about this. Not long, you figured. Would it be better to just come out and say it now?

No. You weren’t doing that. You were not ready for that.

Going to school with this secret held deep inside was a lot already. It felt like everyone who saw you knew, even though that was impossible. Like it was written on your forehead.

Having to face Nancy and Barb was even worse. They treated you just like normal, like their best friend, meanwhile you were hiding the biggest secret possible beneath your sweater.

Seeing Nancy with Steve was even worse. They were so happy together. You knew they had to be sleeping together by now. You were nothing but a distant memory, a cheap hookup, another one of King Steve’s conquests.

Except that wasn’t true. The baby growing in your belly proved that. This was one hookup he’d never forget.

—

When you were 13 weeks pregnant, you noticed the smallest bump in the mirror. It took your breath away as your hand rubbed over it, the firm mound of your stomach seemingly popped overnight. This was bad. This meant you were out of time.

You dressed in a loose sweatshirt and leggings, which was not your usual style whatsoever. Nancy and Barb immediately noticed something was up when you met them at your lockers.

“Are you sick?” Nancy asked, reaching for your forehead with the back of her hand like your mom.

“A little,” you admitted. “I’m just not feeling great.”

Nancy looked at you sympathetically. “Maybe you should go home. I can bring you some soup after school.”

You shook your head - “I can’t. I’ve already missed too much school.” Between the days you’d missed with your morning sickness and the days you’d have to miss for appointments, it was woefully true.

Nancy still looked concerned. “I’m just worried about you. You look rough. I don’t want you being sick at school-“

She was cut off with a squeal as Steve came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her. He whispered something in her ear that had her giggling before he turned to you. His brows furrowed like he was thinking something, but he didn’t say anything to 

you.

“Ready to get to class?” he asked Nancy. He’d taken to walking her to every single one of her classes. It would have been sweet if not for your current situation.

“Oh, sure,” Nancy said, closing her locker. She turned to you. “You’ll let me know if you feel any worse, right?”

The guilt ate at you. Yeah, Nancy, thanks for caring about me, I’m just sick because I’m carrying your boyfriend’s baby. “Yeah, I will.”

Steve gave you another lingering look before he walked off with Nancy, arm wrapped around her shoulders.

It was later that day when you caught Steve alone. You approached him quickly, taking your chance before you could talk yourself out of it. “Steve. Can I talk to you?”

There was a certain dread on his face that almost made you wonder if he already knew what you were going to say. “Um. Yeah, I guess.”

You found yourselves back in the library study pod you’d had your first conversation in, which felt…poetic. He looked like he’d rather be anywhere else, fidgeting and uncomfortable as he leaned against the study table. his gaze darted around, like he didn’t want to meet your eyes.

“What did you want to talk about?” he asked. He was ready to get this over with, whatever it was.

“I…” you thought for a moment about what the best way to break the news would be. You realized you probably should have planned your words, that would have made this a hell of a lot easier.

Steve looked at you expectantly. He didn’t want to say get on with it, but at the same time…. “What is it?”

You fiddled with your bag strap, feeling sick to your stomach. “I’m pregnant.”

Steve just looked at you like he didn’t even hear you. He just blinked. Then, finally, a grin spread across his face, which had you confused.

“Ha, ha. Good one,” he said, bowing his head as if he respected the joke. “You had me scared for a minute there.”

“Steve, I…” you tightened your grip on the strap of your bag, wishing you were anywhere but in your current situation. “I’m not joking. I’m being serious.”

His smile dropped immediately. He started sweating, feeling like his shirt was too tight and he couldn’t breathe. His head was spinning. He leaned on the table for support. “No. You’re not.”

“I am,” you said, frustrated at the way Steve seemed to be choosing to not understand or believe you. “I’m pregnant, Steve. For real.”

He shook his head. “No. No way. It’s not mine.”

You jerked back as if you’d been slapped. “What do you mean it’s not yours?”

“It’s not…there’s n-no way it’s mine,” he said, his voice shaking as he stuttered over his words. He scrambled desperately in his own brain for any way out of this, anything that would disprove his involvement in all of this, but he came up with nothing.

“Steve, you’re the only person I’ve ever had sex with and you know that,” you hissed at him through gritted teeth, having gone from scared to pissed off that Steve really had the nerve to deny this baby.

“I don’t know, maybe you hooked up with someone after me. I wouldn’t know. And then you come telling me it’s mine because my family has money? Well-“

“Are you serious?” You raised your voice slightly, making Steve look around in a panic as he tried to shush you. “You know it’s yours. And you’re really accusing me of wanting your money? I don’t give a fuck about your money. I just thought you deserved to know you’re gonna be a dad.”

Steve paled. “I-I…there’s no way, there’s-“

“I know this is a lot to take in,” you said. “Believe me. I know.”

“Can you prove- can you prove it?” he asked, but it was obvious he was just scared, grasping at anything that would make this go away, anything that would make this not real.

You lifted your sweatshirt. The bump was obvious, perfectly round, and not at all in a ‘maybe you just gained some weight’ kind of way. Steve somehow went even more pale, and you suddenly worried he might pass out. 

“Shit,” he hissed. “I- what- how far are you? How long have you known?”

“I found out a month ago. I’m 13 weeks.” You fished the ultrasound photos out of your bag, handing them over to Steve. His hands were shaking terribly as he took them from you, looking over the distinctly baby shaped blob growing inside of you, and sure enough your name was printed at the top.

“How…how many weeks are there? In a pregnancy?” Steve asked, feeling like a total idiot.

You didn’t treat him like one. “40.”

Steve let out a rush of air. “Okay. There’s time. Okay.” He ran a hand through his hair, messing up the style that probably took him an hour this morning. “What…do you want to do? About the baby?”

“What do you mean?” you asked. “Like, do I want to keep it?”

“Well…yeah,” he said. “Do you?”

“It’s too late for an abortion,” you said. “But…I had decided I wanted to keep it. Him or her. I couldn’t…I don’t think I could carry a baby and give them up.”

Steve nodded slowly. It wasn’t what he was hoping to hear, but what he expected to hear. He understood, in a way. He didn’t love the idea of an abortion or adoption either. “Okay. Um. What happens now?”

You didn’t know either, to be honest. “Well, um…do you want to be…are you going to be involved?”

“With…the baby?”

“Yes, Steve.”

He looked around, took a deep breath. “Well, like. It is my kid, right? So…I’m not going to abandon it. Or you. I’m not…I’m not like that, I swear. I own up to my shit.”

“You just tried to tell me I was lying about it being yours for your money-“

“Okay,” Steve said, holding a hand up, “I get it. I’m sorry. I just panicked, okay? This isn’t exactly great news right now.”

“What about Nancy?”

Those words were like a bomb dropped in the tiny room. No one said anything - it felt like all the oxygen had been sucked out, like a vacuum. No one knew the answer to that question. What about Nancy?

“She’s going to kill me,” Steve finally said, burying his face in his hands. “Fuck. She’s going to break up with me for good.” He began rambling, his internal monologue spilling from his mouth without filter. “And what about my love life? No girl is going to want to go out with me with a kid on the way. No girl is going to want to go out with a dad at our age. And my parents? Jesus, what a fucking disaster-“

“Steve,” you said, cutting off his frantic rambling. “Calm down.”

He nodded, taking a few deep breaths. You’d never seen him so worked up. “Yeah. Okay.”

“We’ll take it one step at a time, okay?” you said, wondering how you ended up being the one comforting him. “We have time. There is a rush, but we have like 6 months. We…look, Steve, we’re gonna be okay, I think.”

He sniffled, and you wondered if he’d started crying. “Have you told your parents?”

Silence. “No.”

Steve nodded again. He ran both his hands through his hair this time, a nervous laugh spilling unprompted from his lips. “Oh, fuck. We are fucked.”

The bell rang, signaling the start of the next class you were now officially late for. You subconsciously rubbed a hand over your belly, adjusting your sweatshirt and high waisted leggings back to cover it as well as you could. Steve watched you, his eyes locked on the bump the entire time.

“Can I…feel it?”

The question caught you so off guard, you thought you might have imagined it. “What?”

“The…your stomach?” He felt so awkward. “Can I touch it?”

You blinked at him. The question was so out of nowhere, the last thing you expected him to say. “Oh…sure?”

You lifted your sweatshirt again and pushed down the waist of your leggings, exposing the skin again. Steve walked towards you hesitantly, extending his hand. Finally he reached you and placed his hand on your stomach. 

His hand was so big, the entirety of the bump fit beneath his palm. It felt weird to have him (or anyone) touching you like this. Steve had a look of awe on his face, his thumb caressing the firm skin. It was a tender moment, one you didn’t expect.

“It’s really real, huh?” Steve said quietly, almost to himself. “There’s really a baby in there? …My baby?”

You smiled gently. “Yeah. There is.”

Steve stayed there for a minute longer, just feeling. When he finally pulled away he didn’t say anything, just lowered his hand and watched as you readjusted your clothes. Just watching you.

“I guess we better get back to class,” you said. “We’re late.”

“Yeah. You’re right.” Steve laughed humorlessly again. “But I don’t think it matters much anymore. College is out the window.”

You hadn’t even thought about that. That made you feel sick, the idea of throwing away all the hard work you’d put in throughout your years in high school. Watching Nancy and Barb go on to Emerson without you. Not that they’d want you to come with them, anyway. They were going to hate you soon enough.

God, Nancy and Barb. How were you supposed to tell them? Hey, Nancy, I have some news - I’m having your boyfriend’s baby. You felt the panic rising in your own chest now, for about the millionth time since you’d found out. Steve stepped forward, a hand on your shoulder.

“Hey,” he said, “it’s okay. Calm down, it’s…it’s not good for the baby. We’re gonna figure this out.”

His words surprised you, the way the tables had turned. He took deep breaths with you as you calmed yourself. “I just don’t know what we’re gonna do. I don’t even know where to go next. I’m-“

Steve said your name, grounding you to the moment. He pushed your hair behind your ear, eyes roaming over your face. He wondered if you had been this beautiful all along, or if you being pregnant with his child made you even more luminous.

“It’s gonna be okay. I’m gonna take care of you. Both of you. Okay?”

You just nodded, stray tears escaping down your cheeks. “Okay.”

You had to trust him.

—

It was gym class that fucked you over in the end.

You had managed to get out of class since you’d started showing, with excuses about your period and headaches and stomach aches. But eventually your gym teacher got tired of it.

“You’re changing into your uniform and you’re running with us today,” she said. “No excuses.”

So you changed in the bathroom stall, which was already strange enough. You waited until the rest of the girls had left the locker room, including Nancy and Barb, before you walked out and stood in front of the mirror.

Oh, god.

It was worse than you thought. The bump was clear as day below your shirt, perfectly round beneath the soft thin material. You looked at your reflection in horror, smoothing your hand over it, wondering if there was anything you could do to hide this. But when your gym teacher yelled through the door for you to hurry up, you realized you were out of time.

It was coming out. Now.

You walked out of the locker room with your arms crossed over your stomach. You had never felt more exposed in your life. The girls were all sitting on the basketball court stretching, laughing and giggling with each other. You approached Nancy and Barb and slid to the ground next to them.

“Are you cold?” Nancy asked, immediately giving you a strange look. “Because I have a sweatshirt in my locker you can-“

You were about to take her up on that kind offer when the teacher blew her whistle, calling everyone to line up. You joined the rest of the class, and she gave you a look. She called your name - “Arms down. What are you doing?”

You felt like you were on stage with a spotlight directly on you. Every girl in your class was looking at you, wondering what the hell you were doing. You had no choice. You lowered your arms, and there was a collective gasp.

“Holy…shit…” Tina said, not even attempting to hide her laughter.

Nancy said your name softly, and you turned to face her and Barb. “What…” Nancy said, looking at you wide eyed and shaking her head like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. “What did you do?”

It was fight or flight, and your brain decided for you. You turned and sprinted back into the locker room, tears falling immediately. You were sobbing by the time the locker room door slammed shut behind you, but it opened again seconds later.

Nancy called your name again as she and Barb hurried to your side, wrapping their arms around you. You wanted to push them away. You didn’t deserve their comfort.

“How did this…” Nancy began, but she was at a loss for words. “Who…when did you…”

“I’m 14 weeks,” you sniffled, wiping at your eyes. “It was…Halloween.”

Nancy gasped. Her and Barb exchanged a look. “Why didn’t you tell us? Who was it? Does he know?”

Your hands were clenched into tight fists. “Yeah, he knows.”

“Who’s the father?” Barb asked again, since you hadn’t answered Nancy either time she had said it.

What could you do? It was time for the truth to come out, ready or not.

“It’s…” you drew in a gasping breath, choking on your own sobs. “It’s Steve’s.”

The room went silent besides the sound of your crying. No one moved. No one dared to move. It was like the calm before the storm, the peace moments before the tornado rips the roof off the house.

“Steve?” Nancy said finally, looking at you like you were dumb and had said something completely outlandish. “Steve…Harrington? My Steve?”

Her Steve.

“Yes,” was all you could say, your voice barely a whisper. “It was…Nancy, I’m so sorry. You have no idea how sorry I am. It was at Tina’s stupid party, after you and Steve had that fight, we were talking and- just- one thing led to another, and-“

Nancy held her hand up, stopping you. Barb just looked between the two of you, her expression one of absolute shock. Nancy’s normally calm face had been replaced by a mask of pure fury, rage and disappointment and hurt. Betrayal.

“You…you slut!” Nancy spat, and she might as well have slapped you in the face. You recoiled, jerking back as if she had truly struck you.

“Nancy, I-“

“I don’t want to hear anything else you have to say,” she said, standing to her feet. Barb looked between the two of you before she stood, too. Her side chosen.

“I can’t believe you,” Nancy said. “You were really that jealous? You couldn’t stand the thought of me having a boyfriend - of me being with King Steve Harrington - so you had to jump in the middle, huh? Take him for yourself?”

“Nance, that is not it, we were both so drunk-“

“But you knew it happened,” she said. “You knew it happened, and you both made a fool of me. Pretending like you hadn’t…fucked each other, like everything was fine between us, like you weren’t keeping the hugest secret in the world.” She shook her head. “You know what? You two deserve each other.”

She turned them, leaving the locker room and going back to class with Barb following behind her. You stayed there on the floor, alone. You pulled your knees to your chest as close as you could and sobbed, burying your face in your arms.

You cried, and cried, and cried. But you had no right to feel like this. No right to be hurt. You were the one who fucked up. You really betrayed your best friend.

You were the scum of the earth.

Lunch was right after gym, and you didn’t know what to expect. You knew you weren’t going to be happily sitting at your table with Nancy, Barb, and Steve. But on your way to the cafeteria, in the deserted hall, you caught Nancy talking to Steve.

“Do you have something to say to me?” she asked him, her face just as angry as the last time you’d seen her.

“What?” Steve asked with an awkward chuckle. “Babe, I have no idea what you’re talking about-“

“Don’t call me babe,” she snapped, making his eyes go wide. “There’s nothing you think you should tell me?”

He noticed you then, standing off to the side. His wide eyes landed on you, then dropped down to your stomach. He looked back at Nancy. “Oh, fuck, Nance, listen-“

“No, you listen, Steve Harrington.” Nancy pointed a finger in his face, her own twisted in pure fury. “No one treats me like a fool. You think you can go around, fucking whoever you want, being as reckless as you want, then come to me with flowers and lies and act like nothing happened? Like you didn’t fuck my best friend?” Her voice broke at the end of her sentence, and your heart felt crushed in your chest. You realized the gravity of your fuck up - the cherished lifelong friendship you’d lost.

“Nance-“

“Don’t.” She looked up, trying to stop the tears threatening to fall. “I don’t want to hear it. Whatever excuse you have for me, I don’t care. I don’t care that you were drunk. What you did is beyond forgiveness.” She turned and met your eyes again. “For both of you.” When she looked back at Steve, there was resolve in her eyes. “We’re over.”

Steve watched, dumbfounded, as Nancy turned and stomped towards the cafeteria. He felt helpless as he watched her go - the potential love of his life, at least that’s how it felt - over one, stupid, massive mistake. He turned around and punched the locker with a loud “Fuck!”, leaving a large dent in the grey metal.

You approached him cautiously, not sure what you should do, if anything. He turned to you with tears welling in his brown eyes. He looked devastated. You felt guilty about that, too.

“Steve, I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “Not now.”

You watched helplessly as Steve stormed off, leaving you alone in the hallway. You really were alone. Completely.

—

You had pretty much resigned yourself to the fact that your life was over. No friends, no boyfriend, the father of the baby possibly not involved. You didn’t know if you could trust Steve to stick around like he said, especially with the way he had left you earlier.

After school, you had to call your mom to come pick you up. You made up a lie about Nancy having a doctor’s appointment, and your mom told you she’d be there after work.

With time to kill, you ended up in one of the study pods again. You flipped through your physics textbook, no homework to be done. You had nearly fallen asleep when the sound of someone walking in startled you.

You looked up to see Steve, giving you a sheepish look as he settled into the small space. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey?” you said back, cautious of whatever he had come to say. With the way things were going for you, it couldn’t possibly be good.

“I just…” he sighed. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry, about earlier. I shouldn’t have stormed off and left you like that.”

You shook your head. “No, it’s okay. I’m sorry about…Nancy.”

“It’s not your fault. Well, not any more your fault than it is mine.” He huffed a short laugh. “We both knew this was coming, though, didn’t we?”

You supposed you did. It didn’t make it any easier.

“She was my best friend since kindergarten,” is all you could offer. Then, like a dam breaking, you burst into tears. You covered your face with your hands as you sobbed, wishing you could undo everything.

“Hey, hey,” Steve said gently, wrapping his arms around you. He pulled you into a tight hug, his large hand rubbing your back soothingly. It helped, surprisingly. You knew you were soaking his polo shirt. “You’re okay. Breathe for me, alright? You’re okay.”

You tried to breathe slowly, following the slow up and down of Steve’s chest. Eventually you were breathing with him again, slow and steady. “Good,” Steve said, and even the rumble of his voice through his chest was soothing. “Can’t have my baby mama freaking out on me.”

You couldn’t help but laugh a little. Steve was good at getting you to smile when it felt like you never would again, that was for sure. He put his hands on your shoulders and pushed you back slightly to look at you. His face was etched with worry as he took in your puffy bloodshot eyes. “I mean it, you know. It is going to be okay.”

“What about Nancy?” you asked, lip wobbling as you thought of your former best friend again.

“Nancy…” Steve sighed. “I hope she’ll come around. You know, things won’t be the same, but…”

But she might not hate your guts, you finished the thought in your own head.

“You’re not upset that she just broke up with you?” you asked.

“Of course I am,” he said, letting out a sigh. “But you’re my main concern.”

“Me?” You were taken aback. “Why me?”

Steve let out a disbelieving laugh. “Really?” He placed a hand on the bump, an affectionate gesture. “That’s my little nugget in there.”

Something about the way he said it sent heat to your cheeks. It was the most affection you’d received from him since you told him. And it was…nice. You hadn’t had anyone to be excited about this with you, to talk about the future and baby names and whether it would be a boy or a girl. You wouldn’t have any friends jumping to throw you a baby shower or anything, but maybe Steve could be that support for you.

“Yeah,” you said simply. “It is.”

Steve smiled softly at you. “I’m not gonna let anything bad happen to either of you. I hope you know that. You have my word, and I don’t go back on my word. I was a boy scout.” He held up a salute. “Scout’s honor.”

You laughed. It was incredible to be feeling lighter than you had in months. Steve had that effect on you, somehow.

“I may not know how to be a dad,” he said, “but I guarantee I’m going to be the best one.”

—

Steve kept his word. He stuck by your side. It didn’t take long for the news to spread around the entire school - not just that you were pregnant, but that it was Steve’s, and that he and Nancy had broken up.

Nancy was still furious. You hated that you had dragged her into this with you, that the whole school was laughing at her for being so clueless. It wasn’t her fault and she didn’t deserve that.

Steve didn’t let anyone say anything to you. The first time Tommy tried to give you shit, Steve punched him in the face. Somehow, they were still friends.

Steve walked you to every class, carrying your books for you and not letting you lift a finger. You sat with him at lunch, ignoring the dirty looks from Carol. You didn’t think you’d ever be able to be friends with her. That was okay with you.

He started picking you up for school and bringing you home. Usually your parents weren’t home in time to see him, but on this particular day, 16 weeks into the pregnancy, they were.

“Maybe you should come inside,” you said, looking at Steve with your brows furrowed, worry etched in the lines formed on your face. “Meet my parents. Maybe…maybe we should tell them.”

Steve took a deep breath. “Look, parents usually love me, but I’ve never had to tell some I got their daughter pregnant.”

You laughed lightly. “Yeah, well…I figure we have to.”

You climbed out of the car, pulling your sweatshirt back on. Steve followed, placing a hand on your back as you both walked up the sidewalk to the front door. When you entered the house, the smell of pasta greeted you instantly. Your mom was in the kitchen and your dad was sitting in his recliner, watching TV.

“Hi, honey,” your mom greeted you without looking up as you walked in. When she finally did look up, she let out a little “Oh!”! at the sight of Steve. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know we’d be having company tonight.”

Your dad looked over, suddenly interested. He eyed Steve, like he was thinking or he knew him from somewhere. “Mom, Dad, this is Steve,” you said, hands in the pockets of your sweatshirt. You could feel the bump beneath your hands,

“Hi. Steve Harrington,” he said in his usual charming way, moving to shake your mom’s hand first and then your dad’s.

“Harrington?” your dad asked, eyebrows raised. “Are you related to Richard Harrington?”

“That’s my dad,” Steve said, his cheeks turning red. You wondered what Steve’s relationship with his dad was like.

“I work for your dad,” he said. “Have since before you were born.”

“Oh,” Steve said awkwardly. You cringed - that was going to make this whole situation even more uncomfortable.

“So what’s the occasion?” your mom asked with a smile as she put the lid back on the pot. You hated that you were about to ruin their good mood.

“Um…Mom, Dad, I have something I need to talk to you about.” You gestured between you and Steve. “Something we need to talk to you about.”

Your mom was instantly concerned, your dad suspicious. “What about?” she asked.

“You might want to sit down.”

That made their worry even worse. Your dad turned the TV off as you and Steve took a seat on the couch, your mom coming in to sit on her chair. “Okay…” she said, “should I be scared?”

“Yeah,” you admitted. Your dad reached over and grabbed her hand. You looked at Steve, who gave you a soft reassuring smile before grabbing your hand. He squeezed it, and you squeezed his back. You took a deep breath and looked back at your parents. The guilt ate at you. “I’m pregnant.”

There was only silence. Your mom covered her mouth with her free hand, tears coming to her eyes. Your dad looked dumbfounded, neither of them knowing what to say.

“And…Steve is the father?” your dad finally asked.

“Um…yes, sir,” Steve said, blushing furiously. Because wasn’t announcing a pregnancy basically telling people ‘hey, we had sex!’? There was only one way we got here.

“Oh, jesus,” your mom said.

“Are you intending to marry her?” your dad asked.

It went silent again.

“S-sorry?” Steve stuttered, his eyes wide.

Your dad looked angry now. “Are you planning to marry my daughter? Make an honest woman out of her?”

“I…I-“

You knew your dad was traditional, but you didn’t expect him to demand you get married. You were only 18. You and Steve weren’t even together.

“Dad, come on,” you said, pleaded. “Don’t do this. It’s humiliating.”

Your dad said your name sternly. “You don’t understand how serious of a situation this is, clearly. Your reputation is going to be drug through the mud. Both of you.” Your dad looked between you. Steve felt as if he was being scolded by his own father - no, that would be worse. “You need to get married. Be together for this child. I know the Harringtons can take care of you.”

“Dad!”

“Look, we’ll revisit this,” your mom said, drawing everyone’s attention. “What’s important right now is this baby. Do you have a doctor? Have you been going to appointments? Taking prenatals?”

“Yes, yes, and yes,” you said.

“No, I’m not done-“ your dad interrupted, but your mom cut him off.

“No more. You’re stressing her out. It’s bad for the baby.”

“Stressing her out?!”

“Steve,” your mom said, ignoring your dad entirely. Steve was grateful for the interruption. “Are you planning to stick around? Be a dad?”

“Of course,” he said instantly. No hesitation whatsoever.

Your mom smiled. “Good. That’s what matters. We can talk about marriage later.” 

Steve paled again.

“This is ridiculous,” your dad said. He stood, walking over to the phone on the wall. He angrily dialed a number, then pressed the phone to his ear.

“Dad…?” you said, dreading whatever he was about to do. “Who are you calling?”

He ignored you. Then, finally- “Mr. Harrington!” he greeted the man on the other line.

Steve looked as if he might pass out. You gripped his hand tighter. “Dad, don’t do this. Please don’t do it like this.”

“Mr. Harrington,” he said into the phone. “Did you know your son is at my house? With my daughter?” A pause. “Yes. Well, apparently, we’re going to be in laws.”

You closed your eyes, the embarrassment and dread physically painful. Steve was nervously bouncing his leg so hard the whole couch was shaking. Your mom stood up, trying to talk some sense into your father, but the damage had already been done.

Your dad held the phone out towards Steve. “He wants to talk to you, son.”

Steve walked over to take the phone like he was walking to his own execution. His hand was shaking as he took it from your father’s hand, then held it to his ear. “…Dad?” He held the phone away from his ear as you could hear the man screaming from where you sat across the room.

“Dad, listen…I-yes, I did, but it-…yeah, I was seeing Nancy. It’s a long story. I-…she’s not a-…okay. Yeah. Okay. See you at home. Yeah. Bye.”

Steve hung up the phone, looking completely dejected. This had gone way worse than you expected. Steve was horrified. You felt guilty once again, that you were putting Steve through this and that you had let your parents down. They didn’t even know about the whole Nancy’s boyfriend thing yet.

“I gotta go,” Steve said to you, looking apologetic and sad. He put his hand on your upper arm, thumb caressing it over the material of your sweatshirt. Then, surprising you, he put his hand on your belly. He smiled down at it affectionately. “Bye, lil’ nugget.” He looked at you again. “See you tomorrow.”

Even with Steve gone, the tension in the room was still high. Your mom was looking at you like she couldn’t believe her baby girl was doing things like having sex and getting pregnant. Your dad looked at you like you’d disappointed him greatly. You didn’t know which was worse.

“Why don’t you go upstairs and freshen up for dinner,” your mom finally said, forcing a kind smile onto her face.

“Okay,” you said. You were grateful for the excuse to get out of this room. You hurried up the steps, heading into your bathroom to pee for the millionth time that day and then take a shower. You stared at your body in the mirror when you got undressed - it was weird, the changes it was going through. You looked so different already, and it wasn’t even halfway through yet. Almost, though. That thought was terrifying. 

After your shower you blow dried your hair, then walked into your bedroom wrapped in a towel. You collapsed back onto your bed. Your back hurt, your feet hurt, and you still weren’t even that big yet. God, how embarrassing will it be to go through graduation super pregnant? You hadn’t even thought of that. The whole school watching you knowing what you did. And Hawkins was small. This would follow you forever.

You dressed in a t-shirt and comfy pants, brushing your hair out and doing something with it. You didn’t have the energy to put in much effort. You didn’t even put on any makeup before you went downstairs, taking a seat at the table and putting a serving on your plate. It was still tense, like you’d interrupted a heated conversation. You didn’t want to put stress on your parents’ marriage, too. You had already caused so much collateral damage.

After dinner, you waited. And waited. And waited. Finally, just as you were starting to doze off, the phone next to your bed rang. You snatched it off the receiver so fast it barely had time to make a sound.

“Steve?” you said quickly, praying it was him and that he was alright.

“Hey,” he said, his familiar voice bringing you a weird sense of peace. “Are you okay?”

“Me?” You couldn’t believe Steve was worried about you first amidst all of this. “Are you okay?”

He sighed deeply. “Yeah. My dad is pissed. Both my parents are furious.”

“Oh,” you said. “I’m so sorry, Steve.”

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s not your fault. But, uh…they want to meet you.”

You froze. “They want to meet me?”

“Well, yeah. You’re having their grandchild.”

When he put it like that, it sounded so much bigger. You put a hand on your stomach, rubbing in circles around it. “Okay. We can do that.”

“It’s not just to yell at you, I promise,” he said with a slight chuckle. “They got that out of their system with me tonight I think. They just want to know you. They want to be involved with the baby.”

“Okay,” you said again. “Um…when?”

“Friday maybe?” he asked. “You can ride home with me after school.”

“Alright.” It was quiet again for a while. “I’m glad you’re okay, Steve. How are you feeling with the whole…Nancy stuff?”

He sighed. “It sucks. I’m not gonna lie to you. I miss her. I miss her, like, a lot. She won’t even look at me. It hurts.”

You felt terrible. “Steve, I’m so sorry. This is such a mess.”

“Yeah, it is.” You could almost hear a smile in his voice when he spoke again. “But it’s not all bad. I’m…kind of excited to be a dad.”

Your eyebrows flew up. “Really?”

“Yeah. I always wanted to be a dad.” A beat of silence. “It’s earlier than I wanted, sure, and I’m not even sure what we’re going to do, but I know that we’re having this baby and I’m going to love them and be the best dad. Better than my dad.”

His speech made you feel fuzzy inside, your heart beating hard in your chest. You hadn’t thought about the good parts yet. You’d been too stressed with Nancy, Barb, your parents, Steve’s parents, college…maybe being a mom wouldn’t be so bad.

“You gonna coach little league?” you asked, smiling. You felt giddy, like a teenage girl kicking her feet and talking to her crush. Only, you didn’t have feelings for Steve like that.

“Oh, yeah,” he laughed. “I am! I’m looking forward to it. I played baseball, basketball, I was the captain of the swim team…”

“Wow. I knew you were a jock, but I didn’t know you played so many sports.”

“Good at them, too.” The pride was evident in his voice.

“Are we gonna have a little sports prodigy?”

“God, I hope so.”

You laughed. Steve made you feel a way you truly didn’t understand. It was like butterflies in your stomach, goosebumps on your skin. You remembered what it felt like to kiss him, to-

“What if they’re more like me?” you asked. “Will you be disappointed?”

“Like you?” he said. “What, smart as hell? No, of course I wouldn’t be disappointed. I’d be so proud to have a genius kid.”

“Genius?” you laughed. “I am not a genius.”

“You’re super smart.” A pause. “Our baby would be lucky to be like you.”

Your heart beat harder. “Steve-“

“Oh, shit. I gotta go. My parents grounded me and put me on a curfew.” He scoffed. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow.” When you heard the click of him hanging up the phone, you felt disappointed. Like you missed him immediately. Your fingers itched to call him back.

You made yourself turn off the lights and get into bed instead. Your head was plagued with thoughts of Steve. You couldn’t think of anything else. You had visions of him holding a newborn baby, playing with a rambunctious toddler, playing baseball with a kid, smiling with a teenager. You had a whole life ahead of you with Steve. You, Steve, and your baby.

You wondered if it would be a boy or a girl. You didn’t know if you had a preference one way or the other. As cliche as it was, you just wanted a healthy baby. You felt like you needed to grow up fast now. It wasn’t just you you had to worry about, you had to think of this baby all the time now, first.

You thought you liked being pregnant. It felt nice to carry the baby with you, to be so impossibly close to them, having them inside where they’re safe. Despite the morning sickness (which had thankfully come to an end), you would maybe miss being pregnant after having the baby.

You drifted off eventually to those thoughts- feeling content.

sorry i forgot the taglist!!

@crispystarfishhottub @luveediary @that-daughter-of-hephaestus @melaninjhs

[natsaffection]

Code Red. pt 2 | N.R

older!Surgeon!Natasha × Younger!Intern!Reader

Warnings: Age gap (N=35, R=24) hospital atmosphere, panic, bones braking, Death

word count: 6,5k

A/n: New part! I mixed in 4 requests again, so I hope it works out well! Redline will have its moment tomorrow!!

The cafeteria was a chaotic blend of frantic energy and the thick scent of overcooked food. Interns and residents buzzed around, trays piled high with something that was probably meant to resemble meatloaf and salad. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was a break. A moment to breathe.

You sat at one of the corner tables, squeezed in between Levi and Taryn, your tray untouched as you poked at a sad excuse for lasagna. Your nerves were still fried from the OR. The way Natasha had let you struggle, the pressure, the thrill of finally getting it right..it was all still tangled up inside you.

“God, I feel like I haven’t sat down in days..” Taryn groaned, slumping into her chair like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

“Welcome to the glamorous life of a surgeon.” Levi muttered, shoving a forkful of something vaguely green into his mouth. “No sleep, no social life, just patients and cafeteria food that will probably kill us before residency even ends.”

“You can say that again..” Helm mumbled, her eyes half-closed as she stirred her soup absently.

You tried to relax, but your mind kept circling back to the surgery, the look Natasha had given you when you’d finally gotten your shit together, the words that still echoed in your mind.

“I picked you because you were the best.”

You had barely let yourself believe it. But the way Natasha had said it..it sounded real. And then she had walked away with that other woman like nothing had happened-

“So, how’s it feel to be the golden child? First day and you get to assist in the OR with Dr. Romanoff? That’s like, a fast-pass to success.” Levi said, nudging your elbow, snapping you out of your spiral.

You felt your stomach twist. “I-I wouldn’t call it that..” you muttered, trying not to sound so defensive. “I was just…in the right place at the right time.”

Levi snorted. “More like the right place under the right person, from what I’ve heard.”

Your fork clattered to your tray. “What?”

Taryn laughed, shaking her head. “Oh, come on. You seriously don’t know?”

“Know what?” Your voice came out smaller than you intended.

Helm looked up from her soup, eyes wide. “You don’t know about Dr. Romanoff? The hospital’s very own predator?”

Your blood chilled. “Predator??”

Levi rolled his eyes. “Not like that. Just…you know. Romanoff’s reputation.”

“I’m…I’m new. I don’t know anything.” And you felt stupid admitting it. But the truth was, you’d been too focused on your work to care about hospital gossip.

“Let’s just say,” Helm said, lowering her voice, “she’s got a habit of screwing her way through half the staff. Nurses, residents, other attendings..doesn’t matter. She’s…ambitious.”

“She’s a damn heartbreaker.” Taryn added. “Uses people for fun, then drops them like they never existed.”

“Like last week!” Levi piped up, his voice dripping with intrigue. “That poor nurse..Jessica, I think? Came out of the on-call room crying. And then there’s-”

“Definitely Romanoff’s doing.” Taryn said, shoving her salad around her plate. “I mean, we’ve all seen her. She’s hot, yeah, but she’s a goddamn nightmare. The woman’s probably slept with more people than we’ve met in our entire lives.”

You tried to swallow, but your throat felt too tight. Your chest ached, and you hated yourself for it. Because why should you care? You didn’t want Natasha Romanoff. You didn’t want the trouble, the games, the constant battle for control. And yet…

The idea that Natasha had only taken you to bed because you were just another notch in her belt… because you had been convenient..because you were just another one-night distraction…it made something in your chest feel painfully hollow.

You shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t want anything from Natasha. But that didn’t make the bitter, unwanted sting of rejection feel any less sharp. Levi kept rambling, but the words were just a blur of white noise.

Your eyes dropped to your tray, your appetite completely gone. Was that all it had been? Just fun? Just something Natasha would toss aside, like she did with everyone else? And why did that thought make you feel so stupidly worthless?

You clenched your fork until your knuckles turned white. You needed to forget this morning. Forget Natasha. Forget everything. But the words kept repeating in your head, over and over.

——

You threw yourself into your work. It was the only thing that made sense, the only thing that kept your head above water when everything else felt like it was dragging you down. The whispers in the cafeteria, the rumors about Natasha, the doubt, it all needed to be buried under something real.

So you worked. And for the most part, you were good at it. You were making rounds, running small procedures, and interacting with patients with a calm that felt like a miracle after your complete breakdown in the OR.

“Ah, Dr. Y/l/n, good to see you again!” your current patient beamed, a sweet elderly woman recovering from a hip replacement.

“Mrs. Hernandez.” you greeted her with a genuine smile, pulling up her chart. “And how are you feeling today? Any pain?”

“Oh, always pain, honey. That’s just getting old for you.” the woman laughed, eyes crinkling warmly. “But it’s better. You were right about moving around. Took a little walk with the physical therapist this morning.”

“That’s amazing.” you said, your eyes brightening. “That’s exactly what we want. I told you, you’re stronger than you think.”

“I don’t know if I believe you..” Mrs. Hernandez chuckled, “but you’re pretty enough that I’ll pretend I do.”

You laughed, a blush creeping up your cheeks. “Just keep doing what you’re doing and you’ll be out of here before you know it.”

You made a few more notes on the chart, gave Mrs. Hernandez some updated pain management tips, and left the room with a little more confidence in your step. For the next couple of hours, things were…good. You changed dressings, assessed post-op patients, gave instructions to nurses, all with a focused clarity that you desperately clung to.

Because as long as you were working, as long as your hands were moving, your mind couldn’t drift back to what had happened. Or who you had overheard. But of course, the universe had other plans.

“Can you check on Mr. McCarthy in Bay 4? He’s complaining of shortness of breath.” A nurse called as you passed by.

“On it.” you replied, tucking your clipboard under your arm and heading down the hall. You were reviewing his chart as you pushed open the door, already running through possible complications in your mind.

“Mr. McCarthy, good morning. I hear you’ve been having a little trouble breathing?”

“Yeah..” the man grunted, his voice raspy. “Feels like someone’s sitting on my chest.”

“Let’s have a look.” you said, moving closer to examine him. You placed your stethoscope against his chest, listening intently, your brows furrowing. “Breath sounds are diminished on the left side. You’re post-op for a pneumothorax repair, right?”

“Yeah. Feels like it’s getting worse.”

“We’ll get you sorted out.” you promised, forcing yourself to remain calm. “Let’s get a chest X-ray ordered. And I want another set of vitals.”

“Look at you, all professional and bossy.”

The voice sliced through your concentration, deep and undeniably amused. Your spine went rigid. Of course..

The older woman strolled into the room like she owned the place, eyes already locked on you like this was her personal entertainment. Your pulse spiked. Your fingers fumbled as you tried to scribble down notes, your handwriting coming out as little more than a tangled mess.

“Need me to hold your hand, Dr. Y/l/n?” Natasha asked, her voice like silk wrapped around steel.

Your jaw clenched. “No. I’m fine.”

But the way Natasha looked at you made you feel anything but. You tried to focus on the chart, tried to ignore the heat of Natasha’s gaze boring into you, tried to pretend you were still in control.

But your body betrayed you. Your hands were shaking, your grip on the pen clumsy. You went to place it on the counter but missed, the pen clattering to the floor.

“Smooth.” Natasha commented, one eyebrow arched, her smirk sharpening.

You bent down to grab it, your cheeks burning. “It’s…it’s nothing.”

“If nothing means sweating like you just ran a marathon, then sure.”

“Dr. Romanoff.” you said, your voice coming out weaker than you intended, “I’ve got this handled.”

“Oh, really?” Natasha’s eyes gleamed with something like amusement, but also something else. Something more unsettling. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re about two seconds away from passing out.”

Your lips tightened. “He needs a chest X-ray to check for recurrence. His vitals are all over the place and I was just about to order a blood gas to make sure we’re not missing something.”

Natasha’s gaze lingered on you, almost like she was daring you to break. But instead of commenting, Natasha turned her attention to the patient. “Shortness of breath, pressure on the chest, pain radiating anywhere?”

“No, just feels like I can’t breathe.” Mr. McCarthy croaked.

Natasha’s fingers moved to the man’s side, pressing gently but firmly. “Pain when I do this?”

“Yeah. Right there.”

“Sounds like your lung’s reinflated poorly or you’ve got fluid building up.” Natasha said smoothly. “Dr. Y/l/n, what’s your plan?”

You swallowed hard, your mind racing to catch up. “I…I think we need a thoracentesis to relieve the pressure.”

Natasha’s eyebrow arched, her smirk returning. “Good. And who’s going to do it?”

You blinked. “I-uhm-”

“Exactly, you.”

Your heart stuttered. “Me?”

“Yes. Now, not later. Unless you want him to crash before we get him upstairs.”

You forced your body to move, your hands still trembling as you prepared the procedure. Natasha’s gaze remained on you the entire time, scrutinizing every movement, her presence unrelenting.

“Your grip’s too tight.” Natasha commented. “Loosen up or you’ll miss the right spot.”

You did as instructed, your pulse hammering in your ears, your breathing shallow. “Better.” Natasha said softly. “See? Not that hard when you stop freaking out.”

The procedure went smoothly. The patient’s breathing eased, his color slowly returning to something resembling normal. But your nerves were still frayed, your hands clammy, your heartbeat still erratic. And Natasha just kept smiling.

The morning after was a whirlwind of chaos. You had barely slept. Every time you closed your eyes, the image of Natasha Romanoff’s smirk haunted you, her taunting voice echoing in your head, telling you that you were falling apart, sweating like a sinner in church, unable to keep up.

But you had gotten through the day so far. Kept yourself busy with routine cases, kept your hands steady, kept your thoughts away from the mess you had walked into when you arrived at Grey Sloan Memorial. Everything was going fine. Until it wasn’t.

“Dr. Y/l/n!” a nurse called out, hurrying over to you. “We’ve got a situation. Ambulance just brought in a trauma patient. Gunshot wound to the chest. Low pressure, shallow breathing. Trauma bays are full and the OR is prepping for him now.”

Your pulse quickened. You were still only an intern, barely starting to find your footing. And now they were trusting you with a gunshot wound? But then the nurse’s words replayed in your head. “The OR is prepping.”

That meant Natasha would be there. Of course. Of course, she would be. And if you walked in there, stumbling over yourself, hands trembling like you were about to collapse…

No. You couldn’t think about that. This was about the patient. “Where is he?” you asked, your voice slightly strained but functional.

“Coming in through the west entrance. Bay’s prepped. You’re taking him up.”

“Right.” You adjusted your gloves, swallowing your nerves as you hurried to the entrance where they were rolling in a bloodied, unconscious man strapped to a stretcher.

“Brian cooper, gunshot wound to the left side of the chest.” the paramedic called out as they wheeled the stretcher in. “Through and through. BP’s dropping fast. Systolic’s down to 80. Breath sounds diminished on the left side.”

The man’s chest was soaked in blood, the shirt shredded where the bullet had torn through. His skin was cold, clammy.

“We’ve got to get him up to the OR.” you said, your voice growing steadier with each word. “Page Dr. Romanoff. She should expecting him.”

“Already on it.”

They transferred him to a gurney and started pushing him toward the elevator. You held onto the rail, your mind running through the necessary steps, clinging to the structure of the routine like it was your only lifeline.

“Come on Brian, stay with me.” you murmured as the doors slid shut and the elevator jerked into motion. But the progress was slow. The patient’s blood pressure continued to drop, his breathing growing more labored. And the elevator wasn’t moving fast enough.

Too slow. Way too slow. The numbers blinked sluggishly above the door. Three. Four. Five-

A horrible lurch. The lights flickered. The soft hum of the elevator motor stuttered. And everything stopped.

“No. No, no, no, no…”

You stabbed the button for the surgical floor, your fingers frantic. You hit the emergency button, your heart slamming against your ribs.

“Come on, come on!” You slammed your palm against the control panel, your other hand reaching for the emergency button. “Is anyone out there?! The elevator’s stuck, and I have a critical patient! I need help!”

The only response was the shrieking of the heart monitor. “Oh god. No, no, no… Stay with me, Brian. We’re almost there. They’re gonna fix this! You just need to hang on a little longer!”

But his breathing was barely a gasp now, his chest heaving shallowly, each breath a struggle. His lips were starting to turn blue.

“Hey! Can anyone hear me?!” Your voice cracked, the panic strangling you, your fingers still jabbing the buttons like it would somehow force the elevator back into motion.

Suddenly the door opened a crack “Hold on, here is-” The voice cut through the fear like a razor. “Natasha!” you gasped, hope was evident in your face.

“What the hell are you doing in there?” Natasha’s voice was thick with irritation, and something else, something sharper, almost panicked. “The patient was supposed to be brought straight to the OR.”

“I was- He-” Your words stumbled over each other, your throat tightening. “It…it just stopped! I can’t get it moving. He’s crashing, Natasha.. His blood pressure’s bottoming out, his pulse is through the roof, and I…I can’t-”

“Stop. Breathe.” The tone shifted, a blade honed to precision. “Tell me what you see.”

You glanced down at the gurney. Blood soaked through the man’s shirt, the makeshift bandages drenched, the cloth useless against the bleeding. His chest barely rose with each strained breath.

“Gunshot wound. Through and through. Entry point near the left collarbone, exit just above the lower ribs-“

“He’s bleeding internally. He’s going to be dead before the elevator even moves.”

“Okay, but..I can’t just…what do I do?” Your voice came out as a desperate whimper.

“What you do is not panic.” Natasha’s tone was brutal, unrelenting, and somehow, exactly what you needed. “Listen carefully. I’m right here. I’ve got the tools you need, but I need you to be ready to use them. Understand?”

“I- Yes. I understand.”

“Good. I’m pushing the surgical kit through the gap. You need to grab it. His heart’s already struggling to beat.”

You shoved your fingers into the narrow space between the elevator doors. Through the crack, a metal case was shoved toward you, the scraping sound making your teeth clench.

You dragged it inside, your breath coming out in harsh, shallow bursts. “Okay, I’ve got it.”

“Open it. You need to access his chest. And I don’t mean some tiny needle procedure. I mean a thoracotomy. You need to get your hands in there.”

“Wait, what?! No- no, I can’t. Not alone! There should-”

“Yes, you can. Because if you don’t, Brian’s going to die, and you’re going to have to live with the fact that you could’ve saved him. Now, do you want to be a surgeon, or not?”

Your fingers trembled as you flipped open the case. Inside, the scalpel gleamed, the bone spreader gleamed dully next to it, and there were clamps, gauze, suture kits. Everything you needed.

Except for confidence.

“What…what do I do?”

“First, you cut.” Natasha’s voice was low, brutal, and it forced you to move. “You need to make an incision. Anterolateral thoracotomy. Start at the sternum, follow the ribcage down to the mid-axillary line. You know the drill.”

“Okay…” Your fingers tightened around the scalpel.

“Now, cut. Clean, deep, and fast. Don’t half-ass it.”

Your fingers trembled, but you pressed the scalpel against Brian’s skin and sliced. The blade bit deep, a sickening give of tissue parting beneath your hand. Blood welled up immediately, a dark river pouring over his chest.

“Good. Deeper. You need to get to the ribcage. His heart’s being compressed by blood. You have to relieve the pressure.”

You swallowed, your stomach lurching, but your hands moved. You cut down, deeper, following the curvature of his ribs. Your gloves were soaked, sticky and warm with blood. The wound was wide, gaping.

“Okay…Okay, now what?”

“Bone spreader. You need to break open the ribcage. It’s the only way you’ll reach his heart.”

“Break-”

“Yes. Now.” Your hands shook as you picked up the bone spreader. You slid it into the incision, your fingers clenching so hard your knuckles ached. You began to crank the handle, metal forcing bone apart with a series of wet, horrible cracks.

The sound was nauseating. But there it was- the heart. Flickering weakly, struggling to beat against the pressure.

“Blood’s compressing his heart. You need to get your hands in there. Find the source of the bleeding and clamp it off.”

Your hands hovered uselessly.

“Listen. If you don’t do this right now, he’s dead. Your hands. In his chest. Now.”

You forced your fingers forward, sliding them through the gaping incision, your entire arm sinking into the wound. The heat of blood and muscle engulfed your hand. Your fingers scrambled, searching for the bleeder.

“Feel around the heart. You’re looking for the artery that’s been nicked. It’s like trying to find a crack in a dam. Small but deadly,”

There was an edge of urgency to Natasha’s words, her earlier anger now replaced with something sharper. Focus. Determination.

“I-I’m trying..!” your voice trembled, your breath coming out in ragged gasps. “I can’t- I can’t feel—”

“Yes, you can. Slow down. The artery will be hot, pulsing. Blood will be gushing out like a broken pipe. Just..move your fingers. And do it now.”

You swallowed the panic clawing at your throat and forced your fingers deeper. Your muscles strained, your shoulder aching from the angle. But then.. There. A horrifying gush of warmth poured over your fingers, thick and relentless, coating your hand in a surge of fresh blood.

“I-I found it! It’s…it’s torn. Oh god, it’s torn..”

“Good. Now, you need to stop the bleeding. You’re going to press your fingers around the tear. Pinch it. Like you’re clamping a hose. Do not let go. Understood?”

“Yeah. Okay. I can do that.” Your hand adjusted, your thumb and forefinger squeezing around the torn artery. The sudden pressure made the bleeding slow, the frantic beeping of the monitors easing just slightly.

“Okay…okay, I think…I think I got it..” you whispered, your voice hoarse and strained.

“Check. Don’t think, just do. Is the bleeding stopped or not?” Natasha snapped, her words a whip cracking through your panic.

Your gaze locked onto the open chest, your fingers still pressing against the clamp. The pulsing of blood had slowed, the river reduced to a mere trickle.

“Yeah…It’s stopped. Oh, my god, it’s stopped-“

“Uh, this is Maintenance. We’re here to get the elevator moving. We’re gonna need you to stay clear of the doors and just hang tight while we-”

“Definitely not!” Natasha turned to the voice. The sudden change in tone sent a chill down your spine.

“What?” The maintenance guy sounded startled. “Ma’am, we need to get the elevator moving. Just give us a few minutes and-”

“No.” Natasha’s voice was icy, each word dripping with authority. “You are not touching this elevator until I say so.”

“But, Dr. Romanoff, we were told-”

“I don’t care what you were told. What I’m telling you is to stay the hell away from that control panel. I have a terrified intern inside performing an open-chest procedure with nothing but emergency supplies and pure adrenaline. You interrupt her, you so much as make the lights flicker, and I swear to God, I will have you scrubbing bedpans for the rest of your life. Got it?”

There was a long, agonizing pause. “Uh…Yes, ma’am. Understood.”

“Good. Now shut up, stand back, and don’t touch a goddamn thing until I tell you to. Clear?”

“Yes, ma’am. Clear.”

“Natasha?” you managed, your voice trembling. “What do I do now?” Your voice cracked, your entire body burning from holding your position, your arm cramping from the effort.

“You keep doing exactly what you’re doing,” Natasha said calmly. “Hold pressure. Keep him alive. Because now, I need him stable enough to actually save him once you’re out of that damn elevator.”

“But-”

“No buts. You keep holding on. They’re fixing the elevator now. You’ve bought him time. Now all you have to do is keep him from bleeding out before they can get you up here.”

Your entire arm was numb, the muscles cramping, your shoulder throbbing with pain. But your fingers stayed clamped around the artery, refusing to let go.

“Now.” Natasha continued, her voice lighter, almost teasing. “You need to stay exactly like that. Don’t even think about moving. When the elevator doors open, I’ll be right there. And I’ll take over. But until then, he’s yours. Understand?”

“Yes. Yes, I understand.”

“Good girl.” Something about the praise made your entire body flush, but you had no time to think about it. Not when your arm was buried in a man’s chest.

There was a shuffling noise outside the elevator. And then a distant voice, Maintenance. The idiots who had nearly interrupted you.

“Dr. Romanoff? We’re ready to get the elevator moving. Just need your go-ahead.”

“Give me a second, Y/n.” She moved away from the door, her tone dropping to a sharp, commanding whisper. “Listen to me carefully. The intern inside is holding a man’s life in her hands, literally. If you make that elevator jolt, so much as sneeze near it, and she loses her grip, you’ll have his blood on your hands. You’re going to lift this elevator gently. Smooth. No hiccups. No sudden movements. Got it?”

“Y-Yes, ma’am. Got it. Gentle. We’ll be careful.”

“Good. Start moving it. Now.”

There was a faint groan of metal, the hum of the elevator finally coming back to life. It started to rise, slowly, carefully. But even that subtle motion made your fingers clench tighter around the torn artery, panic flaring in your chest.

“I’m still here.” Natasha’s voice came through the gap. “Just keep holding pressure. You’re almost there. And when you get here, I’ll take over.”

“Okay. Okay..”

“You’re not going to let go.” The elevator continued to climb, the seconds stretching into eternities. The tension in your muscles was agonizing, but you didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop.

Not when Natasha’s voice was the only thing keeping you from falling apart. The elevator gave a gentle, final lurch. Your eyes stung from the sterile lights of the hallway, your vision swimming as the faces of nurses, doctors, and maintenance workers blurred together.

But your eyes only locked onto one person. Natasha. She was standing right there, her scrubs spotless, eyes sharp and glittering with a mix of intensity and something else. Something almost like…pride.

“Don’t you dare let go.” Natasha warned, her gaze glued to the blood-soaked scene before her. Before you could respond, Natasha was inside the elevator, a presence so commanding that the rest of the hospital staff instinctively backed away, making space for her.

And then Natasha’s hands were on him. Replacing your fingers with practiced precision, checking your grip, making sure your frantic attempt to save him hadn’t been for nothing.

“Good.” Natasha’s voice was low, approval sliding through the harshness. “You’ve done well. He’s alive because you didn’t let go.”

The words sent a rush of heat through you, but it was overshadowed by the sheer relief of having Natasha there.

“What do I do now?” you asked, your own voice sounding like it belonged to someone else. Weak. Trembling.

“Now?” Natasha’s smirk returned, her eyes gleaming with something unsettlingly like amusement. “You keep holding pressure. Just like that. Because if you let go now, he’s going to crash before we even get him into the OR.”

“But… I thought you were-”

“Oh, I’ll take over. But you’ve already got your hands on the bleeder. Moving you out of the way would just make things worse. So…” Natasha’s gaze flickered down to her own hands as she adjusted one of the clamps. “You’re coming with me.”

Your throat tightened. “What?”

“You heard me. You’re not done yet.” Natasha’s voice was steady, assured, the tone of someone who expected to be obeyed. “We’re wheeling this guy into the OR, and you’re going to keep your fingers exactly where they are the whole way. If you let go, he dies. And I really don’t feel like losing a patient today. So hold on.”

“Okay… okay, I can do that.”

“Good.” Natasha leaned a little closer, her voice dropping to a silky purr. “And Y/n?”

“Yeah?”

“You just proved you can handle more pressure than most of the idiots working under me. So don’t blow it now.”

There it was again. That stupid, ridiculous warmth blossoming in your chest, the way Natasha’s words somehow made you feel like you were capable of doing this. Like you weren’t just some scared intern with your hands buried in a dying man’s chest.

Natasha’s gaze flicked to the maintenance workers standing by, their faces pale with shock. “Alright, get this damn elevator moving. And do it smoothly. If I feel so much as a bump, you’ll all be applying for janitorial positions tomorrow. Got it?”

“Y-Yes, Dr. Romanoff. We’ll, uh, we’ll be careful.”

They were terrified of her. And somehow, you couldn’t blame them. The elevator hummed to life, the movement almost imperceptible. But you felt it. Your entire body tensed as the machinery groaned and lurched.

“Easy.” Natasha’s eyes never left you. “Keep your grip. Focus on his heartbeat, not your own.”

“I can do that.”

The elevator crawled upward, each passing second stretching into an eternity. Your arm throbbed, your muscles burning with the strain of keeping your fingers wrapped around the torn artery, holding life in your hand like it was something fragile and easily lost.

The doors finally opened to the OR floor, the sterile white hallway waiting for you like some cold, indifferent maw. But Natasha was already in motion.

“Move! Get him into the OR! You, stay exactly where you are. Hands still on the artery. You’ll let go when I say so. Not a second before.”

The gurney lurched forward, Natasha steering it with a ferocity that left everyone else scrambling to keep up. You stumbled along, your hand still buried inside Brian’s chest, the elevator and its nightmare feeling like some distant memory.

“Natasha, I-”

“Not now. Talk later. Right now, you hold on and keep doing exactly what you’re doing. You got this far. Don’t fall apart now.”

The OR doors swung open, the flood of light and frantic movement swallowing you both. Nurses, residents, everyone was waiting, their voices a blur of medical terms and questions.

But your focus was only on Natasha. “On my count.” Natasha ordered. “One. Two. Three. Let go. I’m taking over.”

Your fingers released, your arm finally jerking free of the gaping wound. Natasha’s hands replaced yours in a matter of seconds, her gaze never once breaking from the surgical field.

“Now get out of my OR before you collapse on my patient.” Natasha snapped, but her voice lacked the usual bite. She sounded almost…proud.

You stumbled backward, your own heartbeat roaring in your ears, your legs trembling as you practically fell out of the OR, your own blood-smeared hands shaking uncontrollably.

You felt like you were vibrating. Every nerve in your body was thrumming with an energy you had never experienced before. Your fingers still twitched, phantom sensations of blood and torn flesh still echoing through your nerves.

But you had done it. You had actually done it. Brian had been alive when they wheeled him into the OR. His pulse had been weak, thready, but there. Because of you. Because you had kept your hand buried in his chest, holding a torn artery together like your life depended on it.

And when Natasha had finally taken over, her movements swift, confident, unyielding, it had felt like the culmination of something impossible. Now, you paced the corridor outside the OR, your hands trembling, your chest tight from the adrenaline still pounding through your veins. Nurses and residents moved around you, but they were just shapes, voices blurring into nothing.

You couldn’t keep still. Couldn’t let go of the electric rush coursing through you. A few of your fellow interns gawked at your blood-soaked scrubs, whispering to each other with a mix of awe and horror. But you barely noticed.

All you could think about was what had just happened. Your pulse was still racing when the OR doors finally swung open. Natasha strode out, her scrubs stained with blood, hair a mess, eyes glinting with something hard and sharp and deeply satisfying.

She looked like she had just fought a war and won. You practically launched yourself forward. “Natasha! Oh my god. That was…I don’t even have words. That was insane!!”

Natasha’s gaze flicked over you, eyebrows arched in mild surprise. “You’re still here?”

“Yes, I- Are you kidding? That was the most intense thing I’ve ever done. I-” Your words tumbled out, uncontrolled, your voice pitching high and fast. “I had my hand in his chest, literally holding his heart. And I didn’t screw it up. You were right there, talking me through it, and I…I actually did it..”

Your hands made wild, frantic gestures, your eyes gleaming with something like triumph. “I mean, I was terrified, but it was incredible. And the way you took over? God, you were like a machine. Just..perfect.”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed, her expression unreadable. “You sound like you just won the lottery.”

“Because I did! Well, not really, but…I mean, you were there, right? I kept him alive. I kept him stable. I..I saved him..”

You could barely contain yourself. The rush was still thundering through you, a chaotic mix of pride, excitement, and something that felt dangerously like pure euphoria.

“I mean, I literally had a man’s heart in my hands..” you continued, your voice breathless. “And I didn’t panic. Not really. I did it.”

Natasha’s expression remained unreadable, her gaze flicking toward the OR doors, then back to you. “Yeah. You did.”

The words were slow, careful. But there was something in Natasha’s eyes- something not quite right. “What’s wrong?” Your smile faltered, the excitement thrumming through your veins suddenly too loud, too frantic.

Natasha took a slow breath, her shoulders sagging just a little. “Brian didn’t make it.”

The world seemed to lurch sideways. “What?” you whispered, the word feeling like broken glass in your mouth. “No…No, he was stable. He was alive when you took over. I did everything right. You said-”

“I said you kept him alive long enough to give him a chance. And you did.” Natasha’s voice was firm, her words precise. “But it wasn’t enough. His heart was too weak. By the time we started repairing the artery, it gave out.”

“No…” Your head shook violently, your mind refusing to process what you were hearing. “But…I-I held him together. I did everything right..?”

“And you did.” Natasha agreed, her gaze sharp, unwavering. “You kept him alive in that elevator. You kept his heart beating long enough for us to try. That’s more than most surgeons could’ve done.”

“But he’s…dead?”

Natasha’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Yes.”

All that adrenaline, that frantic energy, that surge of confidence-it all crashed down at once. Your knees felt weak, your entire body sagging as if someone had pulled the strings out of you. Your hands still shook, stained red from the life you thought you had saved.

“I…I really thought…”

“Welcome to surgery.” Natasha’s voice was blunt, but not unkind. “Sometimes, you do everything right and it’s still not enough. That’s just how it is.”

The rush of adrenaline was gone, leaving nothing but a hollow ache in your chest. The realization that you hadn’t saved him. That your first miracle had been nothing more than a temporary delay.

You had left the OR corridor as if in a trance, your legs moving purely out of instinct. Your hands still trembled, even after you had scrubbed them clean three times. The hot, sticky blood was gone, but you could still feel it.

Still feel the heat of Brian’s heart pulsing against your palm. Still hear the weak, desperate beats struggling to survive.

And then, nothing. You had failed. Your first real test, your first real moment to prove you were worth all the praise and expectation Natasha had thrown at you. And you had still lost him.

The days that followed were a blur. You pushed through your rounds with a mechanical precision, your movements robotic, your voice hollow. The other interns watched you like you were some kind of tragic legend already forming. The intern who had been buried up to her elbows in a man’s chest and still couldn’t save him.

Every time you passed Natasha in the hallway, the woman’s eyes followed you. Watching. Assessing. Like she was waiting for something to snap. But you didn’t snap. You just…shut down.

Days later, you sat at the far end of the cafeteria, a half-eaten sandwich lying forgotten on your tray.

“Y/l/n”

The voice startled you. You glanced up, eyes bleary from lack of sleep. “Natasha.”

The woman’s name tasted bitter on your tongue. Like something you’d lost the right to say. Natasha slid into the seat across from you, her expression calm but her eyes intensely sharp. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Bullshit.”

The word hit you like a slap. You stiffened, your fingers clenching around the edge of your tray. “Excuse me?”

“I said, bullshit.” Natasha repeated, her voice low, harsh. “You’ve been shutting down. Avoiding everyone. Burying yourself in mindless work like it’s going to make the guilt go away.”

“Why do you even care?” you shot back. “Isn’t this what you wanted? To push me so hard I’d fall apart? Congratulations, mission accomplished.”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed. “You think that’s what I wanted?”

“I don’t know. You threw me into the deep end and told me to swim, and I still-”

“No. You weren’t supposed to save him.” Natasha interrupted. “You were supposed to give him a chance. And you did. Sometimes, even when you do everything right, it’s not enough. That’s part of the job.”

The truth hurt. Because it was exactly what you had been refusing to accept. “I should have saved him..” you whispered.

“Maybe. Maybe not. What matters is you did everything you could. And most interns wouldn’t have even tried.” Natasha’s gaze held yours like a lifeline. “And you’re going to pull yourself out of this. Because you don’t have a choice.”

“And if I can’t?”

“Then I’ll make sure you do. I pushed you because I know you can handle it.”

And for the first time in days, you felt something other than crushing guilt. You felt something almost like… hope.

-

-

-

-

[ari-ana-bel-la]

Can you do a Carlos dad were lando swears around his kid and now she won’t stop repeating it and he is trying to get her to stop but Carlos finds out (toddler daughter) if possible

Little Parrot

Carlos loved nothing more than being a father. From the moment Yn was born, he had promised himself that she would always know she was loved, always feel safe, and always be happy. And, of course, he had made it his mission to teach her Spanish so they could have their own secret conversations.

It had started as a joke between him and Rebecca—she had been determined to learn Spanish, but Carlos had made it harder by talking faster and using slang. In the meantime, he whispered little words to their baby girl at night, spoke to her in Spanish every morning, and now, at four years old, Yn was perfectly bilingual.

It was something he took great pride in, especially when Lando—her ever-dedicated godfather—tried (and often failed) to understand their conversations.

Lando had always adored Yn. He was there the day she was born, had cried when he held her for the first time, and spoiled her beyond reason. He tried his hardest to pick up Spanish, just so he wouldn’t be left out when Carlos and Yn had their little chats. But his progress was... questionable.

And now, as the paddock buzzed with activity before a race weekend, Lando had a new mission—one that involved a lot of pleading.

"Come on, just for a few hours!" Lando begged, his hands clasped together as he followed Carlos through the Williams hospitality.

Carlos sighed, adjusting the little pink backpack slung over his shoulder. Yn had demanded she bring her favorite stuffed bunny, a coloring book, and snacks for the day, and he, being the soft-hearted father he was, had agreed.

"Lando, I don’t know," Carlos said, casting a glance at his daughter, who was currently sitting on a chair, happily eating some fruit while kicking her feet.

"Please, please, please," Lando whined. "I swear I’ll take good care of her! She loves me! Right, Yn?"

Yn perked up at the sound of her name and turned to look at Lando with a big smile. "Sí!"

"See!" Lando grinned triumphantly. "She wants to stay with me."

Carlos narrowed his eyes. "You say that now, but last time you almost lost her in the McLaren garage."

"It was one time!" Lando argued. "And she wasn’t lost, she was just—exploring."

Carlos raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, fine. She wandered off a little," Lando admitted sheepishly. "But I promise, this time, I’ll watch her like a hawk. She won’t leave my side!"

Yn looked between them curiously before tilting her head at her father. "Papá, por favor?" she asked sweetly, blinking her big brown eyes up at him.

Carlos groaned. She knew exactly what she was doing.

"Fine," he relented. "But—" he pointed a firm finger at Lando, "—if anything happens, it’s your fault. And I will make you regret it."

Lando beamed, scooping Yn up in his arms. "Deal!"

Yn giggled as he spun her around, and Carlos exhaled, already wondering if he had made a mistake.

Lando was determined to be the best godfather in the world today.

"Alright, Mini," he said as he set Yn down gently on a chair. "We are gonna have so much fun today."

Yn nodded eagerly, swinging her legs as she held her stuffed bunny close. "What are we doing?"

"First, we have very important jobs," Lando said, crouching down to her level. "We have to inspect my car. Make sure it's all good for the race."

Yn's eyes widened with excitement. "Really?"

"Yep! And since you're my assistant today, that means you get a headset, too!"

Yn gasped. "Like you?"

"Exactly like me."

A few minutes later, Yn was sitting on Lando’s lap in the garage, wearing an oversized headset as she watched the engineers work. She looked absolutely serious, as if she really was his assistant, nodding along as he explained things in the simplest way possible.

"And this is my steering wheel," Lando said, holding it up for her. "It has so many buttons. Want to press one?"

Yn gasped. "Can I?"

"Yeah, but not the important ones," Lando said, pointing at a harmless button. "Try this one."

Yn pressed it with a determined look, and the lights on the steering wheel flickered. She clapped her hands in delight.

"You're a natural!" Lando grinned, ruffling her hair.

For a while, things were going perfectly. Yn was entertained, happy, and sticking to Lando like glue.

Then he messed up.

It happened when he was helping her climb up onto a higher chair. He wasn’t paying attention, knocked his knee against the table, and immediately hissed, "Fuck!"

There was a beat of silence.

Yn blinked up at him. "Fuck," she repeated.

Lando froze.

Oh no.

Oh no no no no.

"Um, no, no, no, we don’t say that," he said quickly, shaking his head.

Yn tilted her head. "But you said it."

"I—I didn’t mean to!" Lando panicked. "It’s a bad word."

Yn nodded seriously. "Fuck is bad word."

"Yes, exactly!"

"Fuck," Yn repeated, nodding like she was learning something important.

Lando slapped a hand over his face. "Oh, shit."

"Shit," Yn said immediately.

Lando nearly choked. "No, no, no, stop!"

But it was too late.

Yn found it hilarious. She giggled, kicking her feet, and started chanting, "Fuck! Shit! Fuck! Shit!"

Lando was screwed.

"Lando," Carlos’ voice cut through the air, dangerously calm.

Lando froze. Slowly, he turned, still holding Yn, who was currently humming to herself.

Carlos stood with his arms crossed, looking unimpressed. "Why is my daughter running around saying fuck and shit?"

Lando gulped. "Uh—"

"Fuck!" Yn chirped happily. "Shit!"

Lando shut his eyes. He was so dead.

Carlos pinched the bridge of his nose. "Lando."

"It was an accident!" Lando blurted. "I swear! I hit my knee, and I didn’t mean to say it, and then she memorized it like a little parrot, and I’ve been trying to get her to stop!"

Carlos sighed, rubbing his face. "Do you know what Rebecca will do if she hears her saying that?"

Lando’s eyes widened in horror. "We can’t let her find out!"

Carlos shook his head, but there was amusement in his eyes now. He turned to his daughter, kneeling in front of her.

"Yn, mi amor," he said gently, "those are bad words, okay? We don’t say them."

Yn pouted. "But Lando says them."

"Lando is dumb," Carlos said, sending a glare his way. "You’re much smarter than him, aren’t you?"

Yn giggled. "Sí!"

Carlos smiled. "Good. So, let’s not say those words anymore, okay?"

Yn nodded, then leaned in to whisper, "But they’re kinda funny."

Carlos sighed.

Lando snorted.

Carlos shot him a look. "Not helping."

Lando held his hands up in surrender. "Look, she’s gonna hear worse when she’s older."

"Not today, she won’t," Carlos muttered. He turned back to his daughter, who was already distracted playing with her bunny.

"Alright, no más palabrotas," Carlos said firmly. ("No more swear words")

Yn giggled. "No más palabrotas."

Carlos kissed the top of her head before glaring at Lando one last time.

"You," he said, pointing at him, "are never babysitting again."

Lando gasped. "That’s not fair!"

Carlos smirked. "Jódete." ("Fuck you")

Lando groaned.

Yn, despite her father’s warning, giggled under her breath. "Jódete"

Carlos sighed.

It was going to be a long day.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you.

-🩷🎀

[writing-for-marvel]

Right Here, Waiting (2)

Roommate!Bucky Barnes x Curvy!Fem!Reader

< < PART 1

Summary: While out with Bucky’s friends for Sam’s birthday, someone makes a rude comment about your body, leading Bucky to prove just how beautiful he thinks you are.

Prompt: “Hey. Pick on someone your own size.” for @avengers-assemble-bingo’s 108th Birthday Celebration

Warnings: strictly 18+ due to the AU, TRIGGER WARNING internal monologue references reader having issues with weight & eating, a man commenting on readers appearance/body in a negative and unprovoked way, VERY insecure reader, slight angst with belief of unrequited love, idiots in love who finally stop being so oblivious!

Word count: 4.3k

A/N: so I was triple dared by @intrepidacious to write more for these two and who am I to break the sacred rules of triple dares? They do deserve their happy ending 🩵 banners by @vase-of-lilies

Masterlist | Ask me anything! | Taglist | Library

You don’t want to be here. Not really.

Even though you’ve got Nat by your side and you’re essentially invisible as a group of Bucky’s mates celebrate his best friend’s birthday, there’s something about being in a new part of town, and with a group of people you don’t know that well, which makes you feel on edge.

But the reason you came tonight is staring at you with warm, sparkling blue eyes, and a smile that calms the raging nerves in your stomach.

“You having a good time?”

“I am now that you’re here.” You say playfully, and you hear Nat scoff lightly from beside you.

He looks heavenly, as if a statue of a Greek god was animated to life, donning a shirt which perfectly matches the colour of his irises, which shows off his bulging biceps, and just enough length to his perfectly styled hair which makes you want to run your fingers through it.

It really should be a crime to walk around looking so good that he draws the stare of every woman within a ten meter radius, head held high like he knows it too.

But while everyone else has their eyes on him, whispering about how gorgeous he is, Bucky’s looking at you, making your stomach somersault. And then the stunning smile he flashes just for you has you melting into a puddle.

Surely there’s no way he can’t see the effect he has on you, how you become a giggling fool in his presence. But that just serves as a reminder that after three months living together and him not making a move, he is very clearly not interested in you like that.

“I shouldn’t have taken so long to come find you then.” You know he’s only joking, but in reality you and Nat have barely had the time to wish Sam a happy birthday and set yourself up at one of the high top tables. Bucky hasn’t exactly wasted any time in coming to talk to you.

“Well it would have been rude of you not to say hello to the birthday boy first.”

“Ahh I see enough of that punk anyway.” He jests, as if he also doesn’t see you every single day at your shared apartment, but you don’t mention that to him.

You notice Nat walking over by to corner of the room in a group with the man of the hour, not even bothering to announce her departure unlike last weekend at your local bar with her attempt to push you and Bucky together.

Somehow being alone with him now, even though it’s a regular occurrence back in your apartment, fills your stomach with churning anxiety. Perhaps it’s the expectation that Nat believes something will happen between the two of you, even though you’re well aware that’s a physical impossibility.

“Thanks for coming tonight, I know you don’t know Sam all that well yet and would probably prefer to be snuggled under a blanket at home reading, but I want you to meet my friends. And I want them to meet the people who are important to me too.”

The implication that you are a prominent person in Bucky’s life gives life to butterflies in your tummy. Even though you’re sure the intention of his words are that you’ve become good friends while living together, it’s ammunition your mind can use to assemble a pipe dream that you serve a much more significant role in your roommate’s life.

“If they’re important to you, then they’re important to me too.” Silly boy doesn’t know you’d do absolutely anything for him, including facing your social anxiety of meeting new people if it means you get to see him happy.

“Well you’re the most important.”

It’s when he says things like this, accompanied with that earnestly affectionate smile, that hope builds brick by brick in your chest - you don’t say that to someone who’s just a friend, right?

But if he somehow did feel that way about you, ignoring all the reasons why someone as attractive and charming as him could do so much better than you, then why had he not made a move?

You come to the same conclusion you always do when Bucky comes out with these overly sweet statements - he’s referring to you as being very good friends. Roommates who would consider each other family.

Regardless, with this small sentence he’s rendered you utterly speechless, your mouth so dry and brings a ferocious heat to your cheeks that you couldn’t contribute to conversation even if you had to.

There’s a silence which passes between you, not awkward like either of you are waiting for the other to come up with some ridiculous small talk, but content, that even in a room packed with people to speak to you’re happy just being in each other's presence, words aren’t needed.

“Oh, how rude of me, you don’t have a drink - you want your usual?” You had never expected him to buy you a drink, but it warms your heart how considerate he is, that he takes the initiative to make it his priority even when it arguably doesn’t affect him.

“Yes please.” You manage to mutter out.

The cheeky wink he shoots you before heading up to the bar only further contributing to you melting into a puddle on the floor. He could do anything and have you in a trance, but when it’s small, doting actions reserved solely for you like this, that have your heart leaping out of your chest.

“So… when’s the wedding?” Nat comments, sidling up to you, however it doesn’t distract you from watching Bucky walk away, admiring his strapping, muscular back and his ass that looks divine.

It’s when you turn to look at your best friend, a brazen sparkle in her eye, do you miss the way Bucky longingly looks back at you from the bar.

That relentless hope you’re continually trying to shake returns, inflating in your chest when she talks in a way that your romance with Bucky is inevitable, when you spend every waking second actively pulling yourself back to reality on earth from dreaming on cloud nine.

“Nat you know he doesn’t like me like that.” You repeat for what feels like the millionth time.

“I beg to differ, you’d been here less than two minutes before he approached you.” The gleam in her eye has become a familiar one, that screams ‘told you so’, as if this was conclusive evidence.

“He knows we don’t know a lot of people here and just wanted to make sure we felt comfortable. That’s what friends do.” At least that’s what you are telling yourself to help suppress any irrational wish your brain could conjure at the reasoning why Bucky sought you out so quickly after your arrival.

“Well he only asked you didn’t he? It was like I was invisible to him.”

“He just knows me better, that's all, we do live together you know.” Is how you justify his behaviour, but you can tell Nat isn’t having a bar of it with the cynical look she shoots at you.

“You keep telling yourself that sweetie. That boy has it bad for you, but you silly kids will work it out eventually.” She says with a certainty that puzzles you, as if there is no question that you and Bucky are destined to end up together. She flashes a quick smile before affectionately patting your hand and making her way up to the bar.

There’s a moment where you’re left alone, pondering Nat’s words and if there is any truth to them - your best friend is honest to a fault, and isn’t the type to blatantly lie to you to spare your feelings. Perhaps there’s something she can see that you can’t, or won’t let yourself notice.

The buoyant hope you always try pushing down floats in your stomach and for once you revel in the small possibility that perhaps you’ve been wrong all along about Bucky. As unlikely as it is, maybe your feelings aren’t completely unrequited.

You feel someone next to you before you hear them speak, a voice that is unfamiliar and which sends a tense vexation shivering down your spine.

“That little redhead friend of yours is gorgeous, think you could introduce me?” It’s not the first time a stranger has approached you interested in Nat. She’s beautiful, slim and wears dresses that flaunt her toned figure, but it nevertheless causes an ache deep in your chest that you're never the person the man approaching you is attracted to.

Just once it would be nice to be the woman they notice, the one lusted after.

“She’s not interested.” You don’t even have to look at the man to know Nat wouldn’t be interested in someone who didn’t have the guts to approach her directly.

You hope that response is enough to send the man on his way, but your experience tells you men with an ego the size of a Mount Everest don’t give up so easily when they have a gorgeous woman in their sights.

“C’mon, don’t be butt hurt that no one’s interested in you. Attractive people deserve other attractive people.”

His words, laced with so much spite, feel like a kick to the teeth. Even though he’s a nobody, someone who will disappear into the masses that make up this enormous city, it’s just another reminder that not a single person in this populous metropolis wants you, in particular the one person who owns your heart and sleeps in the next room.

“You really think that’s gonna make me more likely to help you out?” You turn to finally look at the man, and as attractive as he is, there is a pretentious air to him, a conceited smirk you’d love to smack off his face. It’s a face of a man that has never been told ‘no’ before in his life. “Fuck off.”

“Don’t be a bitter bitch about it.”

Without you realising, Bucky had noticed you looking uncomfortable in conversation with this repulsive man, and stalked across the entire length of the room, forgetting about your drinks at the bar, to come to your aid.

“Hey mate, how about you pick on someone your own size huh?” Bucky looks dauntingly large as he steps up to face the man, at least a head taller than him with broad shoulders that make the other guy look like a lanky schoolboy in comparison.

In contrast to how intimidating Bucky looks, his touch is gentle as he herds you behind him protectively.

“Why? Because the whore is so much bigger than everyone else here.”

His mocking tone cuts through you like a sword, hollowing out your insides. You sense all eyes in the room turn to you, and you shrivel into yourself in juxtaposition to how Bucky shines when the centre of attention.

It feels like the air in the room has been suctioned out, your lungs and throat burning from the absence of oxygen, or maybe it’s just your lack of will to take a breath, wanting the world to engulf you and your existence to end right here.

It’s hard enough to live with the understanding of how much bigger you are than every other person in the room when it is etched into your frontal lobe so that you are reminded of it every passing second, but for someone else to actually express that notion aloud, for all the terrible thoughts you believe about yourself to be confirmed by a stranger who only needs to have seen you once in your life to recognise this about you, is enough for you to start decaying from the inside out.

It’s not just you who thinks that, now every single person in the bar is fully aware of how much physical space you’re taking up, how much weight you carry on your distinctly pudgy stomach, around your jawline which is soft unlike Bucky’s sharp mandible, how your thighs rub together when you walk, not having a gap between them as Nat does.

“What the fuck did you just say?” You barely recognise the voice as Bucky’s, he practically growls at the man, picking him up by the shirt front and slamming him into the wall behind you.

Bucky’s positive he’s never had rage flow through his veins like this before, never genuinely wanted to snap someone’s neck and step over their lifeless body until this very second. Anyone who hurts you deserves an even worse fate than that.

The bastard then has the gall to mumble out ‘it was just a joke’ as he raises his hands in defence, as if he wasn’t the piece of shit to provoke this entire confrontation.

“I dare you to say that again and see where it gets you.” Bucky longs to punch his fist through this man’s nose, the only reason currently stopping him is a potential assault charge, but then he hears you sniffling behind him and he wants to throw caution to the wind.

“Barnes, you need to go after her.” Natasha implores, interrupting the intense staring match between the two men and saving Bucky from spending the night in a jail cell. The mention of you is the only distraction which spares this man’s face from being rearranged.

Bucky practically throws the guy on the ground, searching for you in the sea of patrons staring at the commotion, before chasing after you as if his life depends on it - because it does, you are the reason his heart beats just that little bit quicker every morning at the prospect of seeing you curled up in your armchair, having fallen asleep reading one of your books and him needing to gently wake you from your slumber; you are the reason he stops off at the store on his way home from work and spends half an hour at the grocery store most days, to ensure the pantry is fully stocked with your favourite snacks; you are the reason he has not brought a single woman back to his apartment since moving in, no one on the face of this earth could could make him feel the way you do, turn him on naked in his bed how you do dancing around the kitchen in your pyjamas.

He loves you. And his whole world is crashing down around him knowing you’re in any type of pain.

“Sunrise, please.” You're not sure what he’s pleading for exactly, but he doesn’t ask again once you stop scurrying out of the bar. He reaches for you when the fresh air outside hits your face with a crispness that makes your tears sting more than they had inside, tugging on your shoulder for you to turn around and face him.

The completely shattered way you look back at him, with teary eyes that are usually so full of wonder and vivacity, shreds Bucky’s heart into so many pieces he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to put it back together again.

He’s going to kill that man for making you feel like a fragment of the beautiful person he has come to adore.

Unintelligible words fall from your lips but you don’t have the brain capacity to articulate yourself better when your mind is rerouting all your thoughts to one central nucleus - how disgustingly large you are.

Typically you’d be mortified about Bucky seeing you in such a distressed state, because not only are you huge, you must also look revoltingly unattractive with tears flowing down your cheeks, ruining your makeup, and snot dripping from your nose.

But you know Bucky’s arms, the embrace of the man you love, is also the only cure for the malignant disease which has now infected your mind, so you put up no defence to him pulling you in for a secure, reassuring hug.

Bucky’s chest, smelling strongly of cinnamon, is the safest place you’ve ever known. Even though you’re still consumed by what was said back inside the bar, Bucky holds you so tightly that you have no doubt that he will comfort you through the worst of it without him needing to say so.

It’s a blur of tears, head throbbing, chest aching and Bucky’s soft yet vigilant hands as you make your way home. He leads you into a cab, buckling your seatbelt for you, him taking the middle seat so you can rest your head on his shoulder, his calloused hand resting on your thigh, soothingly rubbing gentle circles with his thumb over your soft skin.

Not a single word is spoken on your journey, comfortable with the solace his presence brings you, and finally feeling secure being miles away from the environment that led you to feeling as giant as an elephant trapped in a zoo enclosure with mice.

Bucky’s fingers interlace with yours as he leads you up to your apartment, the feel of his large hand engulfing yours eases the feeling of taking up too much space in the world. Even though you’re much wider than him in size, there are parts of your tall roommate that somehow miraculously still make you feel smaller than him.

His keys get thrown on the hall table with a clang. The familiar environment brings you peace, even if Bucky holding your hand is a new sensation which has nervousness prickling your stomach.

He sits on your couch, the one you’ve sat on many a lonely night before you even knew Bucky, his arms outstretched in a way which asks you to curl up on him in a hug.

“No, Bucky I’ll crush you.”

His heart cleaves in two with just how defeated your small voice is. It physically hurts him that you think of yourself like that and not as the most beautiful, voluptuous goddess that he knows you are.

“You’re not gonna crush me. Now c’mere.” His voice is soft but his hands are unyielding as he practically picks you up and deposits you in his lap, not taking no for an answer.

His strong arms snake around you, large hands resting on a pocket of fat on your waist that has always plagued your insecurities, but Bucky holds you tenderly, almost lovingly, and the self doubt slips from your mind and all you can focus on is how close you are to him.

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispers with a kiss to your temple. It almost sounds like he actually believes it - but your mind simply cannot accept that as fact, especially not after the humiliation surging through you from the strangers taunt earlier.

“Bucky, you don’t have to lie.”

“Sunrise, I’m not lying.” He retorts almost instantly, not wanting to allow any time for doubt to creep into your mind.

“You’re my roommate, you can’t very well call me an ugly pig, which is exactly what I am.”

Bucky so badly wants you to be able to see yourself the way he sees you, how vibrant his life becomes when you so much as walk into a room, how all his anxieties fade to nonexistence when you smile at him.

How you are everything he has ever dreamed of.

You sleep one very thin wall away, and all he can ever think of as he falls asleep on his own every night is if you are in the next room thinking of him too, wishing that your dreams will be consumed by him as his are by you.

“Stop. Please stop putting yourself down. You are gorgeous, stunning, and so much more than just my roommate.” He says sincerely, wiping away a stray tear as it trickles over the apple of your cheek. “You are my Sunrise, the stunning star at the centre of my universe that lights up my entire life.”

Never in a million years did you imagine these words coming out of Bucky Barnes’ mouth. You stare at him, jaw slack in utter shock, waiting for the moment where he takes it all back or to clarify that you’ve misinterpreted the intention and in fact he really means that you’re good friends, just very good friends.

This must be your hopeful heart overreacting after such an upsetting day, because surely he cannot actually think of you as more than that.

“It hurts me that you can’t see how impossibly beautiful you are, how you’re the most stunning woman everywhere you go, how I can’t take my eyes off you even for a minute whether it’s lazing around here in your pyjamas or all dolled up for a night out. You will always be the most beautiful woman in any room to me.”

Your chest feels like it’s about to explode any second with how much warmth is ballooning in your lungs. This isn’t happening. Surely you bumped your head getting out of the cab and this is all just a dream your mind has concocted to heal from the anguish sustained earlier.

“You can’t possibly mean that.” You shake your head, attempting to pull yourself out of the hallucination your brain is composing.

Bucky's eyes flit down to your lips, slightly chapped and dehydrated from crying your eyes out, but when they return to your gaze again, there’s a palpable desperation which quivers in his pupils.

“My whole fucking world comes to a standstill when you enter a room and like a magnet I can’t help but be drawn to you. You make my heart beat out of my chest just by smiling at me. There is not a day where I don’t wish to be back home here with you, where it’s just the two of us and the world outside holds no consequence because you’re all I’ve ever needed, all I’ve ever wanted. Can you really not see how powerful the hold you have over me is?”

There should be no doubt, given his confession, how much significance you have in Bucky’s heart, and yet you’re in disbelief, utter shock, unable to truly comprehend why he cares for you in such a way, when there are so many other women who are hotter, skinnier, funnier than you.

If this was written in one of the thousands of romance novels you’ve read, you wouldn’t hesitate to believe how much love the protagonists have for one another, but because it’s happening to you, that you are the heroine of this story, your mind is conditioned to reject the premise altogether.

“Bucky…” You mumble, your mind is spinning too much to form a coherent thought, let alone articulating just how consequential your feelings for the man whose lap you're sitting in are.

“Even if you don’t feel the same way, I need you to know how beautiful you are to me.” And that’s when your brain kicks into gear - you cannot stand any insinuation that your feelings for your roommate are simply platonic, and not the all consuming, devoted love that fills your heart with as much sunshine as on a cloudless summer day.

Especially not after his admission.

“Not feel the same? Bucky, I’ve been in love with you since you mov-”

At the mention of the word ‘love’ Bucky pulls your face close with a hand on either side of your face, and kisses you so forcefully the rest of your sentence is muffled and completely forgotten about.

You haven’t kissed someone in such a long time, and your stomach prickles with nerves as you frantically try remembering the movements you’re meant to make with your lips, where your tongue should be, that you should close your eyes. But as long as it has been, you’re sure the sparks you feel as his warm lips caress yours is because it is James Barnes kissing you, and not just anyone.

He smells and tastes divine, like sweet honey and sharp cinnamon, his lips soft as pillows that move hungrily against yours, like he can’t get enough of you either, and when he moans into your mouth you swear you see the gates of heaven.

When his tongue slips into your mouth, the realisation hits you square in the chest that you’re kissing your Bucky, the man who sleeps in the adjacent room, who cooks you breakfast shirtless in your kitchen, who always thinks to bring home your favourite food after a long day at work where he could arguably only want to think about himself.

The man you love. And who reciprocates that ardent feeling.

The awareness that it’s him knocks all the breath from your lungs and you need to come up for air much sooner than you would have liked, but Bucky gazes up at you with that familiar warmth that you never would have believed was something more than just friendship, but now seems like it was the clue all along that the two of you were never just roommates.

“You love me, huh?” He says in such a playfully taunting tone that makes you smile.

“Yeah… but I’m your Sunrise aren’t I?”

“That you are. My beautiful. Stunning. Gorgeous. Sexy. Perfect Sunrise.” Bucky places sweet kisses to your lips between each adjective, each one lasting a little longer than the previous. “I love you too.”

Maybe you can’t understand why Bucky feels this way about you when there are far more attractive people in the world. But maybe that doesn’t matter.

Perhaps your love for him is part of what makes you the most beautiful person in the world in his eyes, the way his love for you is why you find him the most alluring man you have ever met. And that will forever be enough for you.

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[corevibeself]

𝓦𝓱𝓸 𝓲𝓼 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓕𝓾𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓮 𝓢𝓹𝓸𝓾𝓼𝓮?

The energy of love that I have been feeling around me for the past month has been as intense as swallowing sugar by the buckets. I feel like my insides are turning pink. I'm now realizing my insides are already pink as I'm writing this. Anywho loved doing this reading xxxx

ℙ𝕚𝕝𝕖 1 ℙ𝕚𝕝𝕖 2 ℙ𝕚𝕝𝕖 3

ℙ𝕚𝕝𝕖 1

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙙 𝙨𝙤𝙣𝙜: 𝙈𝙮 𝙇𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙈𝙞𝙣𝙚 𝘼𝙡𝙡 𝙈𝙞𝙣𝙚 - 𝙈𝙞𝙩𝙨𝙠𝙞

Your future spouse is going to be such a best friend! The energy I’m getting from this reading is that you two might be mirroring each other. I like to say same vibe tribe because you’re vibrating at the same frequency—so if this sounds like you, that may be why.

Your future spouse is the kind of person who gets along with anyone as long as they’re kind and respectful. They steer way clear of drama-seekers and can’t stand judgmental people. They’re deeply empathetic, and I feel like they’ve had experiences that made them someone who stands up for others.

One specific scenario I saw (which may not apply to everyone, but still serves as an example) is that they might have a sibling with a disability who was made fun of, and that experience shaped them into this sensitive, socially aware person who cannot tolerate hate. They know judgment brings nothing but misery, and they refuse to contribute to it.

They’re incredibly compassionate and understanding. You never have to be afraid of making mistakes with this person because they don’t see mistakes as something to hold over you. To them, as long as you’re honest and open about where you’re coming from, that’s all they need. They believe real relationships are built on mutual understanding and vulnerability—and trust me, they walk the talk.

Emotionally mature? Check. Emotionally intelligent? Double check.

They’re also very opinionated, but not in a bad way. I’m seeing a situation where someone says something rude, and this person immediately shuts it down, defending you without hesitation. Or, let’s say you’re watching a reality show together, like Love Island—if they see something unfair, they will speak up about it. They’re passionate about fairness, kindness, and doing what’s right.

I also get the sense that they can be selfless to the point of giving more than they should. They know they have a tendency to take on too much, but at the same time, they don’t mind if it drains them—especially if it means helping someone they care about. Noble souls, they are.

This might also be why they spend a lot of time indoors. Not because they’re antisocial—more like their energy gets scattered easily. Honestly? Big neurodivergent vibes, possibly ADHD. They’ve got this huge heart, a million interests, and a natural tendency to care for others.

They’re what I’d call an introverted extrovert. They’re not shy, but people can drain them quickly. I wouldn’t be surprised if they work in the mental health field, something related to justice, or are super passionate about social justice in general.

And let me tell you—this person has your back in every sense of the word. If you’ve ever craved a connection where you’re fully understood, where you can be 100% yourself without fear of judgment—this is it. They’re exactly what you’ve been needing.

They just have this gift for making people open up. They see the beauty in others, in the world, and they bring so much balance. I wouldn’t be shocked if they have Libra in their chart—Libra rising, maybe?

Their energy is so sweet. I can see them genuinely asking how your day was, really listening because they truly care.

And honestly? If I could tell this person one thing, it would be to see how beautiful of a soul they truly are.

They feel like a modern-day knight. Hehehe.

ℙ𝕚𝕝𝕖 2

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙚𝙡𝙚𝙙 𝙨𝙤𝙣𝙜: 𝙇𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙢𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 -𝙇𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚 𝙈𝙞𝙭

This person’s been through some tough shit, but I see them bippity-bopping their way out of it like the fairy godmother. They might’ve been through foster homes—I also had a vision of couch-hopping—so it could be that they’ve got lots of connections and friends who support them because their family may not. I just get the feeling they dealt with a lot of challenges in their childhood or teen years, and it sparked this change in them. Instead of turning to darkness and letting it define their whole life, they became a doer.

They just know how to grind, how to better themselves, and how to be a good person—which they are. They’re willing to do what it takes to heal. I don’t want to get graphic, but this person may have developed coping mechanisms in the past but has grown out of them.

They’re the type to drop anything they’re doing to help you if you needed it. And they have this way of surprising you. I literally just saw a vision of a guy in a store, minding his business, buying groceries or whatever, and then he just randomly sees something that reminds him of you. It’s a funny energy—like, he’s impulsive like that. He’ll just grab it and bring it back to you, and it’s something completely stupid. You’ll be like, “Why did you buy this stuffed penguin?” and he’ll just shrug and say, “It reminded me of you.” It’s cute, but like... what?! Hahahaha.

This person tends to suppress their emotions, unsure whether to communicate them or not, because they might have some fears around vulnerability. But trust that when they feel safe, they’ll open up to you.

I also kind of saw that this person might be loud (relatable AF). Not in a bad way—just very expressive. I feel like they were the class clown, secretly depressed because shit was bad at home, and teachers were like, “Why are you so loud?” No, but seriously—they’re hilarious. I felt very giggly during this reading.

This person has charm—like, their humour is their superpower. You really wouldn’t guess what they’ve been through because they’re such a ray of sunshine.

And kids? This person is hilarious with them. It’s like they can fully be themselves around children, or they just have this youthful energy no matter their age. If you’re into someone who brings the fun, is goofy but surprisingly deep—this is your person. Genuine. Authentic. I love ittttt.

ℙ𝕚𝕝𝕖 3

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙙 𝙨𝙤𝙣𝙜: 𝙎𝙩𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪 - 𝙋𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚

Daddy Vibes, HA! This person has a great drive—like, a very determined person. I see them getting up constantly, even if they keep falling. This has made them into someone that gives off major "They can do anything" vibes.

Need to kill a spider? Done. Craving something from the store late at night? They’ll do it so nonchalantly, like, I see them just going, "So what do you need?"—face blank AF.

Okay, if anyone is a K-pop fan, Yoongi from BTS totally gives these vibes. He’ll do things for you even if he doesn’t look happy doing it, but it’s not that he’s unhappy. It’s just that taking care of people comes so naturally to him that he doesn’t even see it as a big deal. That’s this person. It’s their role—to take care of you.

They have lots of goals. Like I said, they’ve got this drive. I see backup plan after backup plan after backup plan. Like, "This job isn’t for me? That’s fine. I also really like this. And if that doesn’t work, I have connections. I can travel. I know how to charm and talk to people. I have ways." That’s the energy they give.

Scattered AF, though, but they’re working on it. This person just always has money. You don’t gotta worry about them ever being a lazy bum. It’s not that they’re a millionaire—they’ve just healed their wound around security. They don’t see work as a passion; they see it as "I get this done so I can do my passions." And that’s awesome. Some people need to work in a field they’re passionate about, but this person? They just trust that the universe has their back so they can enjoy their passions, because their passions have nothing to do with work—and they’re fine with that.

If you’re the type of person that doesn’t wanna work your whole life, this person doesn’t mind working for you, honestly. Like, they love you.

They might come off a bit intimidating at first when y’all meet. They just have a good head on their shoulders because of past experiences. Don’t be afraid. I’m getting very mature vibes—like I said earlier... DAAAADDDYYYY.

Some of y’all may have daddy issues, like... that’s okay. So does 90% of the population—we’re on a healing journey here, HAHAHA.

This person looks ahead. They don’t get stuck in the past, so they won’t ever hold shit over your head. The past is the past. We grow as human beings. They’re open-minded and see things from other perspectives, which is so refreshing. Don’t be afraid to express your opinions or feelings—this person wants to help.

If you want a family, they’ll be an amazing father. Also, they might look like a working person. I’m seeing that if their job is physical, you can see it on them—like, maybe they smell like oil because they’re a mechanic. A job where you can literally see the results on them physically.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

<3<3<3

AHHHH my first reading on here. To whoever reads this, I enjoyed doing this. I love everything about this. I'm so passionate, and I'm so grateful to whoever this reaches. XXXX

[atlabeth]

bend an ear

pairing: peter parker x fem reader

summary: your boyfriend doesn't listen to you. good thing your friendly neighborhood spider-man does.

a/n: there's just something about him idk. andrew garfield spidey bc of course! look at him! this came from me playing the spider-man game after it went on sale and yearning for peter parker (will prob have to rewatch the movies bc of this) anyways hope you like it

wc: 3.6k

warning(s): reader's bf is shitty -- they argue for a while and he lowkey slut shames her. but this is basically all fluff otherwise bc childhood best friends to lovers babby!!! real yearning loverboy hours!!!

Peter just wants to go home. 

It’s been… a day. He got his ass kicked by an English test (he doesn’t have time to do the readings when he’s fighting crime), got his ass kicked by Flash Thompson (it’s not like he can fight back with his super strength and pulverize his ribs), and has spent every second since his final class ended fighting petty crimes around the city. 

Stopping ATM thefts and minor muggings feels good, sure, but on days like these, it doesn’t really make up for failing intro literature classes and getting absolutely zero sleep. He’s just thankful May is still letting him live with her while he studies at ESU—if he had to do all of this in addition to trying to make his rent? He doesn’t really want to think about it. 

So he swung his way to the roof of some random building, and he’s taking a break. Sue him, but Peter thinks he deserves it. What’s the point of living in a city like New York if you can’t have a second to yourself every once in a while? 

He’ll go home soon. Grab a bodega sandwich, maybe stop another crime, and then get home for some much needed rest. But for now, he’s just going to sit on this rooftop and relax for a second. Even Spider-man needs some peace and— 

“Babe—” 

“Why are you following me?”

Peter winces as the door slams open, an argument following close after as a girl storms out onto the roof followed by a guy speeding to keep up with her. His first instinct is to swing away as soon as possible, but for some reason, he stays. 

“Because I want to talk!”

“God, do you even hear yourself?” 

“You keep talking over me, so I really—” 

“You don’t get to babe me right now!” 

As if his day hadn’t been bad enough, now he’s accidentally made himself privy to some couple’s dispute. He’s about to web himself out of this third wheeling nightmare when the girl turns around with a groan, revealing her face, and Peter realizes who it is. 

It’s you.

This is your apartment complex. Peter came here without even realizing it, but can he really be surprised? Your name is synonymous with peace in his brain. Comes with the territory of being friends for so long—it still calms him, even when you’re being the opposite of peaceful. 

“I don’t get why you’re acting like this!” the guy exclaims, frustration clear in his voice. 

Of course. Why wouldn’t your shitty boyfriend be here too? The only reason you live here is because you scored this place together; said he didn’t want you living on campus anymore. Ethan Frey might be the bane of Peter’s existence after two and a half years of him being your boyfriend. 

“Because you and your posse are acting like complete jags in front of all my friends!” you shout back. 

He laughs in disbelief. “I’m just being myself, babe. Besides, you’re the one who said I could invite them!” 

“Because you complained about it just being my friends,” you grind out. “You weren’t even supposed to be here, Ethan! You just can’t handle the thought of me being around guys that aren’t you!” 

“Well, what the hell am I supposed to think, huh?” He gestures wildly. “You spend every second with that geek and I’m supposed to believe you’re not into him?” 

And now he’s eavesdropping on a conversation between you and your boyfriend about him. How could this get worse? 

“God, it isn’t like that at all!” you exclaim with a mirthless laugh. “Peter is my friend— my best friend since elementary school. You knew when we got together that wasn’t going to change.” 

“Yeah,” he says, nodding lazily, “but that was before I knew how obvious his hard-on for you was.” 

Peter feels his face heat beneath the mask, wants to wipe the sweat off his palms. That’s how it could get worse. 

Your nostrils flare as you turn away, your hands flexing while you shake your head. “Get out of here, Ethan.” 

“Oh, of course that’s where you draw the line,” Ethan mocks. “When I bring up fuckin’ Peter Parker.” He pauses then chuckles. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” 

Peter nearly intervenes right then and there, wanting to stop this mess before Ethan does anything to hurt you. But revealing himself sounds like the worst possible thing to do, so for once he listens to the rational part of his brain over the emotional. 

“He’s not even here!” you retort. “I live with you, not him. I’m dating you, not him. Why are you bringing him up?” 

“Because I’m not blind.” Ethan crosses his arms. “Y’know, I thought you’d get over this little thing after you let me take you out, but for some reason, it’s exactly the same. I swear you spend more time with him than me.”

Your hands clench into fists. “Get out of here.” 

He scoffs. “You want me to leave you up here?” 

“Yes,” you nod. 

“God, you’ve been acting crazy this whole night!” he complains. “You’ll freeze up here. Just get over it—we’ll go back down, I’ll get you a beer—” 

“I hate beer.” 

“Then I’ll get you a fucking apple juice,” he spits. “Just stop being so dramatic.” 

“You’re not listening to me!” you shout. “I want you to leave me alone!” 

This time he says your name, and you shake your head. 

“Go back to the apartment,” you interrupt. “Because if I have to spend another second with you, our relationship might not make it through the night.”

For once, Ethan is silent as he stares at you. You stare back with no sign of giving up. Eventually, he just huffs and shakes his head. 

“Whatever.” He starts walking towards the door. “You better cool off up here, because I’m not dealing with this shit when you come back down.” 

You stare at the door for a good twenty seconds once he closes the door—slams it, rather—before you angrily kick a stray soda can. Your childhood days of rec soccer must still be in you, because you get an arc on it. Just before it can go over the side of the building, Peter shoots a web to catch it wholly on instinct. 

Your eyes widen as you dart around, and Peter is finally spotted from his place on top of the roof door building thing. What is that even called? He doesn’t really have time to think about it. The aluminum can crunches as it flies into his hand, and you stare at him in complete shock. 

“Uh,” his mouth suddenly feels very dry, but he has to make some excuse for why he’s up here, “littering is bad.” 

Good one, Parker. 

“You’re Spider-man,” you say, eyes still wide. 

“The one and only,” he nods. 

“Oh my god,” you mumble, finally seeming to break out of your shock as you cover your mouth and turn away. “Oh my god, Spider-man just heard my relationship falling apart.” 

“I didn’t hear anything!” Peter exclaims. “I—”

You shoot him the withering look he loves so much, that was able to get his bullies to shrink on the spot in high school—it feels weird being on the receiving end of it. 

“I’m not stupid,” you say. 

“I kn—” He has to stop himself from saying I know, because realistically Spider-man has no idea who you are. “I’m sorry.” 

You huff and cross your arms. “Do your superhero duties include eavesdropping on failing couples?” 

“It was an accident,” Peter says. “I was up here before you were. So technically, you were eavesdropping on my actual superhero duties.” 

You laugh, and he smiles just at the sound of it. One benefit to wearing the mask, because it would expose him right on the spot. “Oh yeah? And what are those?” 

“Patrolling the streets,” he says. “I’ve got a very good vantage point from up here.” 

You hum, your mood turning a bit more morose as you glance away. “Well, I’m sorry you had to hear all that during your patrol.” 

“I’m sorry you had to go through it,” he says. “Your boyfriend sounds like an asshole.” 

You roll your eyes. “He’s fine, most of the time. Just had a little bit too much to drink.” 

Peter will never understand why you defend Ethan so much. You’ve been together since freshman year and he’s only gotten worse since then—maybe he hides how he is around you, because he hasn’t really shied away from showing Peter how much he hates him this past year.

“He looked pretty sober to me,” Peter says. “And trust me, I have plenty of experience fighting guys that have had too much to drink.” 

You huff. “What are you, a spider-therapist?” 

“I’m good at a lot of things,” he says. “And I’m always good for bending an ear.”

“Surely you have better things to do than listen to me complain.” 

Peter shakes his head. “My schedule’s pretty clear right now, actually.”

“Really?” you marvel. “There’s no crime in New York City at,” you check your watch, “11:37 pm?”

“Absolutely none,” he says. “I solved it all. At least for now.”

You laugh again at that and gesture with your head as you walk over to the edge of the roof. “Then I guess I’ll take you up on that offer.”

Peter jumps down and follows you over. You hoist yourself on top of the wall, legs dangling over the edge, and he feels himself frown as he leans his back against the wall and looks up at you. 

“Isn’t that a little dangerous?” 

“You’ll catch me if I fall,” you say. 

“Obviously,” Peter says. “I’m supposed to encourage safe behavior in New Yorkers, though.” 

You laugh and tilt your head up towards the night sky. The moonlight reflects in your eyes and Peter knows he could get lost in them forever. “Just this once, then.” 

“I think I can let it slide.” 

“Good.” 

A comfortable beat of silence passes between the two of you, and Peter finds himself smiling. No wonder he ended up at your place out of instinct. There’s nothing else like your company. 

“I always think it’ll be different,” you murmur. Peter glances up at you, your expression shifted to something more melancholic. “We’ll have a good day, which’ll turn into a good week and a good month, but he always does something to mess it up. It’s like it’s in his DNA.” 

He stays silent as you think. Most of the time when you rant to Peter, you just want to be heard, not given advice. At this point, he’s an expert at listening to you. It’s not like he minds. 

“I want things to work out. I— I still love him. I mean, I think I do. But everything is a fucking struggle with him. If I don’t do things the exact way he wants, if I try to do something for me instead of him, if I can’t read his fucking mind, then he loses it and we argue. And I’m so fucking tired of arguing!” 

Your voice has risen by now, and you bite down hard on your cheek. Peter doesn’t realize he’s started reaching towards you to comfort you until you look back down at him, and he runs his hand over his head in an effort to cover it up. 

“I’m sorry,” you sigh. “I promise, I’m a much nicer person than this. You just caught me at the worst time.”

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I know.”

Your brows rise. “Spider-man knows I’m a nice person?”

“I can just tell,” he rushes, trying to save himself. He’s doing a real good job at not revealing his identity. “I’m good at reading people.”

You chuckle and shake your head, then adjust your position so your back is towards the open air. It makes Peter nervous, he can’t lie, but it’s not like he’s not a superhero. 

“So, spider-therapist,” you say. “Any advice?” 

So this is one of the rare times you do want answers. Peter wonders if you’ll leave your boyfriend if Spider-man tells you to. 

“He doesn’t sound great,” Peter says, inclining his head. “How many times have you argued this week?” 

“Four,” you say. “Five, if you include tonight.” 

He whistles. “And it’s only Wednesday.”

You tip your shoulder. “We’re efficient.” 

“And unhappy, it sounds like.” 

“We’re not unhappy,” you defend. “We’re just…” 

“You’re up here talking to me instead of down there with him,” Peter says wryly. “That doesn’t exactly scream ‘happy couple’.” 

You shake your head with another sigh. “It’s because he can’t get over Peter.” 

He tries to act as nonchalant as possible when you bring him up. Is this an invasion of privacy? Letting you talk to him about all this when you have no idea who Spider-man actually is? 

Instead of floundering over moral qualms, he just clears his throat. “And who’s he?” 

“My best friend,” you say. “The one person who’s been by my side since the second I moved to New York. He means everything to me.”

Peter feels his heart skip a beat. “Yeah?” 

“He’s like— like the opposite of Ethan, and it’s wonderful. I guess that’s why Pete irks him so much. Y’know,” you pull out your phone and start typing in your password, “maybe I should call him. He always knows what to say.” 

“No!” Peter exclaims with a bit too much force, causing you to give him a look. “No— I mean, it’s late. He’s probably asleep. And— and it’s a school night?” 

You tilt your head, and Peter exhales when it seems to work. “True. He’s probably studying for that biochem test.” You grimace. “I should be doing that too.” 

He watches you type out a few texts and send them, and Peter’s never been more thankful to have his phone on silent. What a way that would be to blow his cover. 

You shove your phone back in your pocket with another sigh. “I just hate that my boyfriend and my best friend don’t get along. I love them both—why can’t they like each other?” 

“I mean…” Peter trails off when you look at him, and he gestures with his head. “It seems pretty obvious why they don’t get along.” 

“Yeah,” you say dryly. “Because Ethan thinks Peter likes me, and he probably thinks I have some secret crush on him too. I swear, he’s always looking for a reason to fight.” 

God, could the universe be calling him out any more? It’s honestly ridiculous how this is going. 

“Do you?” Peter asks, because he can’t help himself. “Like him, I mean.” 

“I don’t know,” you murmur. “I love Pete, I do. It’s always been the two of us no matter what. But I…”

He holds his breath as he tries not to look at you, tries not to make it too obvious that he might have stumbled his way into his simultaneous dream and nightmare scenario. 

He’s had a crush on you for what feels like forever. Since you stood up for him against his bullies in elementary school, honestly, and it’s only grown over the years as the two of you have grown. From recesses spent together and bike rides through the city; spending the night in Peter’s apartment because it was easier for your sister to let it happen than try and drag you back home; endless nights with heads bent over textbooks trying to study for tests, over college applications trying to get into the same place, and now studying and researching near every damn weekend together because you’re both unfortunate enough to try for ESU STEM degrees. 

You were there when Ben died. He’s there on every anniversary of your parents’ accident. Without knowing it, you were there when he got bit and his whole life turned upside down. 

You and Peter have been there every step of the way for each other, and it’s why he’s content with just friendship—Peter wants you in his life no matter what. But he can’t lie and say he doesn’t hope. 

No, actually. He yearns. He’s doomed to be a yearner for the rest of his life because he’ll never stop loving you. How could he? 

“I’m not sure,” you finally say with a sigh. “All I know is that I’d rather be with Pete tonight than Ethan.”

Peter wonders if your chest compressions are still as good as they were in high school, because he feels like he’s about to have a heart attack. 

You’d rather be spending tonight with him than your boyfriend of two years and seven months, and Peter isn’t even supposed to know. 

You mistake his silent freakout for nonchalance, and you clear your throat as you jump back onto solid ground. 

“Well, I’ve spilled my soul to you,” you say wryly, crossing your arms. “Anything a superhero can spill in return?”

Peter thinks for a good, long second. His hands itch to take off his mask, to do what he’s wanted to do since he got bitten by that stupid spider and show you who he really is. 

How many times has he been a total asshole, canceling plans on you because he had to go stop some supervillain from wreaking havoc in Times Square? How many times has he been late to something important to you because he was caught up stopping dime a dozen muggings? He still remembers the look on your face when he showed up just in time to miss the entirety of Les Mis’s opening night with your first lead role. 

You were a better best friend to Peter than he was to you because of this stupid mask. If he took it off, it wouldn’t make every mistake fade away, but it would sure help explain some of it. 

But Peter has been doing this since high school, and he has seen far too many times what happens to the loved ones of heroes. They’re used as leverage, used for ransom, sometimes just straight up killed.

You’ve been friends with Peter since you and your sister moved into the apartment next to May’s thirteen years ago. It doesn’t matter if you never share Peter’s feelings. You’re one of the only constants in his life, and he’s not going to lose you because he’s too selfish to keep a secret. 

Losing you would be the last straw. He couldn’t take it. 

So Peter pushes all thoughts of secret identities revealed out of his mind and tries to chuckle convincingly. 

“I’m allergic to peppermint, believe it or not.” 

You stare at him, deadpan. “That’s nowhere close to all the shit I just gave you.” 

“It’s true!” he exclaims, holding up his hands. “Happened after I got bit by the spider. They’re repelled by peppermint oil, and I guess I am too.” 

You shake your head in disbelief. “I can’t believe Spider-man is a coward.” 

“A superhero’s gotta have some secrets,” he says, and he taps the side of his head. “Otherwise this thing doesn’t do much good.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” you say. “Whatever.” 

A chill suddenly goes up Peter’s spine and he whips around—he can hear a distant scream followed by a distant gunshot, and he mentally curses. 

“Duty calls?” you ask, drawing his attention back to you. 

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m sorry—” 

“Don’t be.” You smile, and it’s genuine. A nice change from the state Ethan effortlessly puts you in. “You went out of your way to cheer me up. Pretty super of you.” 

“I hope it makes up for the eavesdropping,” he says. 

“More than,” you nod. “Now get out of here. Your city needs you.” 

Peter nods too, and he backflips onto his original spot. “Have a good night. You’re real special to somebody.” 

He’s gone before you can say anything else, already zipping across the rooftops to get to the scene of the crime. Peter can only think of your face as he swings through the air—all the things he’s too scared to say to you. 

The crime, which turns out to be yet another petty theft, is resolved easily enough with some punches, kicks, and a snappy one-liner. Once he’s retrieved the woman’s purse and alerted the police, he’s back in the sky. 

Peter only stops once he’s swung a couple miles away, perching on the edge of some rooftop for some actual peace and quiet. He checks around once or twice to make sure he’s not somehow back at your place, and when he’s sure it’s all clear, he pulls his phone out. He swipes past all the notifications he’s racked up until he finds the one he’s looking for: the texts from you. 

hey pete, I know you’re prob asleep rn but you were right. I really need to study for that test lol

wanna meet me at the library tomorrow after QM? I’ll buy the coffee this time i promise <3 

as long as you use your roomie’s dining dollars to get me a croissant lol 

Peter can’t help but smile, larger than anything tonight. This is why he’s okay with being nothing but your friend for the rest of his life. 

Deal. Anything to get you an A 

lol

asshole 

Never 

Try to get some sleep. No good studying on a tired brain 

Three dots appear for a good long second, enough to constitute a decent paragraph—then they disappear. In its place: 

I’ll try just for you 

night boy genius

(How could he not love you?) 

Night, girl wonder

[delugyu]

hii ! i definitely need a part 4 of the beomgyu drabble please 😭

hehe glad to see people are still enjoying this

one / two / three / four

(wc: 4.3k / warnings: gyu being kind of a bad friend 😭, dry humping, spit kink sorry, fingering, masturbation, virgin!reader, a bit of nipple play, cum eating, jealousy, some possessiveness)

it feels a little weird when beomgyu hangs out with you again. everything was fine until your mutual friends decided to leave together, leaving him alone with you at the bar. beomgyu had no problem being normal and cool a minute ago, but that all leaves him in an instant.

a month ago, this would have been the easiest thing ever. he would have been able to continue the night laughing and chatting with you like friends. how was he to know that teaching you how to give a handjob was going to lead to all this? that it would make it impossible to even look at you a little too long?

“i’m shocked yeonjun left before you did,” you say. he wonders how you can still talk to him so normally, as if nothing had happened between you two at all.

he tries his best to not make himself a fool in front of you. “yeah,” he says. he doesn’t know what more to say. he can hardly stand to look at you for more than a couple seconds at a time.

“you plan on leaving alone?” you ask. beomgyu’s body tenses for a second. a hopeful part of him thinks you might be flirting, but he also knows hope is synonymous with delusion when it comes to how much he wants you.

“not sure yet. are you?” he asks.

you shrug. “taehyun said he might come by, so i’ll”—the rest of whatever you say gets tuned out by beomgyu. he wants to listen and smile and root for you, and he feels like the worst friend ever for not being able to do so, but it’s so impossible to hear you talk about taehyun when beomgyu’s struggling with these weird feelings for you. he doesn’t even know what he’d call it. it’s not like he’s in love with you, but he feels sick whenever he thinks about you with anyone besides him.

he’s never caught feelings for anyone just from hooking up, so it can’t be that. he’s sure that whatever he feels for you is purely physical. he’s a man, after all; it only makes sense that lust would blind him this badly. he chooses to ignore all the signs that would lead him to any other conclusions.

beomgyu misses when you didn’t care about boys; he didn’t have to deal with all these confusing emotions back then. you and beomgyu were never super close, but being part of the same friend group meant that you at least hung out often. it was always fun and easy, at least until now.

“are you and taehyun really serious now?” he asks. maybe he should’ve bit his tongue, but he trusts that the question is innocent enough at face value.

you seem like you don’t know how to answer that, taking a moment to think of a response. “define serious,” you end up saying.

nothing that comes to beomgyu’s mind would be appropriate to ask you. do you let him touch you? do you go on dates as more than just friends? do you treat him like he’s your boyfriend? and, god forbid, do you have feelings for him?

“are you exclusive with him?”

you blink at beomgyu. “i mean… i guess not.”

“what do you mean you guess not?” beomgyu wants a straight up answer, cause if you’re not exclusive, he’s taking you home tonight, and if you are exclusive… well, taehyun will just have to hate beomgyu’s guts tomorrow.

“we never really talked about it,” you say.

“then you’re not. taehyun would make you his girlfriend if he wanted to badly enough,” beomgyu says, and it comes out much harsher than he intended. he only realizes it when he sees a bit of offense on your face. he quickly tries to recover, “i mean, i’m sure he really likes you, and he’d be super lucky to have you as his girlfriend.”

you just look more confused, brows slightly furrowed, head tilting just a bit. god, beomgyu wants to punch himself. what the fuck is wrong with him?

“what’s the point of this?” you ask.

beomgyu sighs and looks off into the crowd, trying to find his answer. instead, he finds taehyun walking into the bar, scanning the room until his eyes land on you. this is such a joke.

in an ideal world, in which reputation doesn’t matter and beomgyu doesn’t have to be mindful of his actions, he would have taken your hand and ran out of this place with you. he’d kiss you in the parking lot and make sure taehyun was the last thing on your mind. this is not an ideal world, though, and instead beomgyu has to smile at taehyun when he sits next to you.

beomgyu might literally throw up. why are you smiling at taehyun like that? you’ve never smiled at beomgyu with such adoration. taehyun’s whole demeanor is just sunshine and rainbows, and beomgyu’s sure it must feel so swell to have all your attention and affection at his whim.

whatever. “i’m gonna grab a drink,” beomgyu says, excusing himself from the table.

the bartender eyes beomgyu up and down like he knows exactly what’s up. beomgyu’s not exactly trying to act all happy, so it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that he’s in a bit of a mood.

“just give me something strong and cheap,” beomgyu says. he needs something that will make the sight of you and taehyun being lovebirds semi-tolerable.

he heads back to the table after finishing his drink, and taehyun’s laugh is a lot more grating than he remembers. you look happy to see beomgyu come back, which at least feels like some kind of win. beomgyu’s not drunk, but he’s buzzed enough to sit here without feeling miserable.

some amount of time passes by before taehyun finally seems to be leaving. if you ask beomgyu, he’d say it was about five hours—the clock shows it was more like one.

“oh, come on, you’re not even gonna have one drink?” you laugh, grabbing taehyun’s hand when he gets out of his seat.

“he’s not much of a drinker,” beomgyu answers for him. taehyun laughs and agrees.

“i’ll see you tomorrow though,” taehyun says, squeezing your hand and smiling at you before stepping away. “and we gotta hang out soon too, bro.” taehyun slaps a brotherly hand onto beomgyu’s shoulder, patting it in parting.

“for sure,” beomgyu says, hoping he sells the excitement that he does not feel. he’s such a bad friend, and he feels like shit for not being able to act normal.

you look all set to go a few minutes after taehyun heads out. it’s late into the night, so beomgyu can’t blame you. but he also can’t let you walk home alone like this.

“can i bring you to your place? or at least get you a ride?” beomgyu offers, rising from his seat when you do.

“you can come to mine and just stay over. it’s late and i live closer anyway,” you say. a smile finds its way onto beomgyu’s face before he even realizes it. he’s surprised to see your lips curl up into a sweet smile back at him.

when beomgyu gets to your apartment, he takes his time analyzing your room. you have a lot of decor that he gets to look at while you change into more comfortable clothes in your bathroom. he’s already sitting on your bed when you come back, and his heart does this weird jumpy thing when you’re in his sight again.

“do you want the bed and i’ll just sleep on the couch?” you ask, standing in your doorway. beomgyu laughs at how cautious you are. you act as if you haven’t shared a bed with beomgyu before.

“just come here,” he says, patting the spot on the mattress next to him. you look so shy and sweet when you walk over, taking tiny steps and getting onto the bed like a dainty little thing. “you’re so cute,” he laughs, not bothering to hold back his words. he’s glad he didn’t, cause the way you smile and look away at the compliment makes his heart race.

beomgyu’s got this terrible thing where he just can’t keep his hands off you when you’re alone in a room. he rests a hand on your thigh, innocently enough to just be friendly. he thinks you look so adorable in your pajamas, meanwhile he’s still dressed in the same outfit he went to the bar in. the contrast between that gorgeous dress you wore earlier and the sleep set you wear now is so funny and endearing.

“beomgyu, can i ask you something?” your voice holds some sort of seriousness to it, and it hits beomgyu like ice cold water. his hand stiffens on your thigh.

“anything,” he says.

your hand lands on top of his, just lightly resting over it. your eyes are on your hands instead of beomgyu’s face. he runs his thumb over your skin to soothe you, trying to get you to relax, even if he’s a little scared to hear your question.

“do you not like taehyun?”

beomgyu halts all his movements. he doesn’t even breathe. it lasts just for a second before his facade comes back. “taehyun’s my friend. why are you asking this?”

you pick up beomgyu’s hand and lace your fingers between his. beomgyu thinks it might be the alcohol in your system that’s getting you to act so clingy and brave.

“you just seemed weird about him tonight,” you say.

beomgyu hums and nods slowly. “don’t worry about it,” he reassures, coming in to place a kiss on your cheek. maybe the alcohol’s got him acting brave too.

you turn your head and give him a smile that seems like you’re just begging him to kiss you. beomgyu’s not a strong-willed man—he sees you batting your eyelashes at him and it’s game over. with a hand on your chin, he leans in to give you a sweet kiss, and for the first time, he doesn’t think he has sexual motives behind it.

well, until you moan in his mouth. then he has a bit of a change in plans.

he brings you carefully down to the bed, not disconnecting from your lips once. his hands hold your face still, keeping you nice and pliant for him to lick into your mouth and keep making you mewl.

“we should make a new rule,” beomgyu says, face hovering just an inch from yours. you hum in question. “no more talking about taehyun when we’re alone.” the suggestion is accompanied by a laugh, but beomgyu’s only half-kidding.

“you’re crazy,” you giggle, pulling him in for another kiss. he thinks you’re the best kisser on earth. nothing feels as good as kissing you does, besides maybe making you cum.

“can i touch you?” beomgyu asks, breathing hotly against your lips, hungrily pecking you just for a moment so as to not stop you from answering.

you turn your face to the side then, and the slightest frown tugs at your lips. something about it makes beomgyu’s chest tighten.

“what?” beomgyu asks, coaxing your attention back to him with his gentle fingers on your jaw. he pouts as he observes your hesitance. “do you just want to kiss tonight?” he won’t push you farther than you’re willing to go. he’ll always prioritize your pleasure, and with that comes your comfort.

“gyu, tell me this isn’t wrong,” you say, running a hand through his hair.

“why would it be wrong?” he would hope that everything you do with him feels nothing but right. that’s how it feels to him.

“cause taehyun doesn’t know,” you whisper.

beomgyu’s quiet for a second, then he brushes your hair back soothingly. “he doesn’t need to,” he whispers back. his hand goes beneath your shirt to rest on your waist. the feel of your skin never fails to send electricity down his spine.

“what if he asks me out soon?” beomgyu hates the way your eyes shine when you say that.

“i thought we agreed not to talk about taehyun anymore,” beomgyu laughs, but it doesn’t sound very convincing. taehyun’s name becomes a bitter weight on his tongue.

what will it take for you to forget about him? does beomgyu need to imprint himself into your head? beomgyu’s lips tingle with a need to kiss you again, to burn his taste inside your mouth. he wants you to be full of him in every way you could be.

he leans in to capture your lips slowly, deeply. it’s a mess of saliva and needy moans, but when he feels your hands gripping onto his arms, he feels like a winner. he wants more of that—more of you being desperate for him, less of you thinking about other men. fuck, is kissing you stupid all it takes? because that’s not too bad of a price.

your hips cant up into beomgyu’s, and he can’t stop the laugh he huffs out at your eagerness. he’s normally the one pleading to get you off, so to feel you seeking out pleasure without beomgyu having to beg for it seems like a miracle. he presses his hips into yours, more than willing to give you the relief you’re looking for. you whine as he grinds against you, and he eats up your every noise like it’s what he was made for.

he pulls away to catch his breath, eyes full of lust as he watches your face contort with pleasure. god, he could watch you like this all day. he can’t believe no one else has ever seen this before. he leans down to your neck, sucking hard and not caring whether or not it bruises. he wants you more than words could let you know; he turns to marking you to show you just how bad he craves you.

you yelp when he starts grinding against you a little harder, and he bites down a smirk at the satisfaction he feels. he holds your hips down, keeping you in place so he can give it to you just how he wants, just how he knows you’d like. you have no clue how good he wants to make you feel; he’d love to see you overwhelmed and trembling, shaking nonstop and begging with tears in your eyes for more and more. he bets you don’t even know how much you could take. he wants to push you to your limits and find out.

his body’s buzzing with the need to get you off, to have you creaming in those cute little pajama shorts. he laughs when you whimper out his name, clawing at his shirt like this is already too much. he wants to go a lot further than this, though.

“we’ll have to stop when taehyun asks me out,” you whisper, breaking beomgyu’s fantasy. he almost runs a hand down his face from the exhaustion and irritation, but he holds back. instead, he levels you with a stare, one that seems to make you shrink back a bit.

his eyes flit to your lips. “open up,” he commands, patting your cheek lightly. your wide, confused eyes dart across his face for a moment, then you oblige. your mouth parts slowly, pretty pink tongue just barely visible. “wider,” he says, and you do.

he needs to show you what happens when you don’t listen to him. he lets a glob of his saliva fall from his lips, watching it slowly drip towards yours. your legs clamp around his waist, and he could almost laugh at the whole ordeal. you’re getting even needier cause he spit in your mouth? or is it because he’s being a little more strict with you? do you like being put in place?

he watches his saliva land on your tongue, dark eyes finding yours. “now swallow,” he says, and he rubs his hand over your clothed cunt as he says it. he feels your body tremble a little. you keep eye contact with him as you close your mouth and do as he says. beomgyu nearly cums in his pants on the spot.

“don’t bring up taehyun again.” he grinds his palm against you a little harder to get his point across.

“i’m sorry,” you say, and you sound so docile that beomgyu feels a little bad.

“it’s okay, baby. you didn’t know better. i just have to get this pretty head to stop thinking, right?” he kisses your forehead, and he feels you nod. you’re so needy right now that beomgyu thinks this might be a wet dream—he’s been dying to see you like this again. “will you let me inside you? just my fingers?” he asks.

you gasp as his fingers circle your clit, and he’s starting to feel how wet you are even through the layers of clothes. he imagines sinking his finger into you, something no man has done to you before. he gets to have all your firsts, he’ll make sure of it. no one else deserves it. no one else could make you feel like he can.

“j-just go slow,” you say. beomgyu can’t take your clothes off fast enough, throwing your shorts and panties to the floor in seconds. he has to stop to admire your pussy, rubbing your slit and gathering your arousal on his fingers.

“you’re the prettiest,” he praises, bringing your hand to his lips so he can kiss the back of it. you smile shyly, then gasp as he glides his fingers across your clit. he continues just playing with the swollen bud for a minute, wanting to get you soaking before he stretches you out.

he circles his finger around your entrance, teasingly applying pressure just to watch you squirm. he feels the ultimate power rush right now—he’s going to change your life, going to make sure you come crying back to him every night asking for his touch.

“are you ready?” he asks.

“yes, please.” you’re so sweet. he’d kiss you if he wasn’t so focused on watching your cunt as he starts pushing his finger in.

his eyes almost roll back at how much you're clamping down on him. he pushes in until his finger’s halfway in and gives you a moment to adjust to the feeling. he gives a couple shallow thrusts, listening to your breath catch, before he pushes in the rest of the way.

“look at you, doing so good,” he coos, letting his free hand caress your thigh.

“i-i can take more,” you say, clenching around his finger.

“are you sure?” you nod vigorously, and who is he to deny you? he pulls out, circling your entrance with two fingers now. “tell me if it hurts,” he says.

he pauses when you cry out as he pushes in, looking at you in worry. “no, keep going,” you insist, rolling your hips eagerly. he continues, getting his fingers in you the rest of the way and stopping to let you adjust. you already look so fucked out, body twitching and hands grasping at the sheets.

“can i move?” he asks.

“yes, please!” your voice is so whiny and breathy, and it makes beomgyu feel fucking crazy. he has to control himself and not jackhammer his fingers into you, even though he’s love to see you take it. you bring a hand to his arm, holding onto him like he’s keeping you anchored. he’s reminded of the greatest feeling in the world: the feeling that you need him.

“i’ll give it to you, baby,” he promises, slowly fucking his fingers into you. you’re insanely tight, and beomgyu doesn’t know if you’d even be able to fit his dick with such a tiny cunt. his cock sits hot and heavy in his pants, but he barely pays it any attention. he’s much more focused on working you up to the greatest orgasm ever.

you sob out his name, and he thinks it’s so cute that you’re already such a mess. he almost wants to put a third finger into you and watch you struggle to take it, but he thinks that might be too cruel. your walls are getting adjusted to his fingers now, and the slide becomes easier, fucking into you a little faster.

“oh my god,” you moan, arching your back and digging your nails into him. he can’t wipe the grin off his face, more than satisfied at your reactions. “feels so good,” you pant.

“yeah?” beomgyu asks, breathless as he increases his pace a little more, curling his fingers up. it takes him a minute to find what he’s looking for, but he knows he’s got it when you cry and your leg kicks out helplessly. he keeps pressing into that spot, curling his fingers up to hit it every time, relishing in the garbled moans that spill out of your mouth.

“beomgyu, i’m gonna”—you’re cut off by your own gasp, whining and arching further into the feeling. you look like a mess, and beomgyu’s never felt more attracted to you than right now. he’s dying for you to lose control, to spill your juices into his hand and become a brainless thing for him to play with.

he feels you tightening around his fingers, so much he can barely move, stuck pressing into you relentlessly to get you to your peak. you’re such a dream when you’re mewling and panting like this.

“fuck, that’s it, just let go for me, give it all to me,” he says, bringing his palm to your clit to aid in your orgasm. you look breakable, and beomgyu would do anything just to tear you apart and rewire your brain to only think about his cock. you lying so prettily beneath him, looking all vulnerable and sweet, makes him feel like the biggest creep in the world. the things he imagines doing with you right now are driving him insane.

he wants to flip you over and pull your hips up in the air, put your cunt on full display for him to ravage and do whatever he wants with. he wants to ram his dick into you while you gasp and whine under him, not even knowing what to do with all your pleasure. he’d make you all his one way or another, fuck you nice every day, make sure you never get the chance to want for another man.

he pulls his fingers out of you when it looks like you’ve had enough, and his slick hand immediately goes to his dick, pulling it from his pants and jerking himself off over your body. he doesn’t care how much of a horny dog he looks like—he’d hump your leg like a bitch in heat if that’s all you’d let him do. he’s just aching to relieve himself, beyond worked up after seeing and feeling you fall apart for him.

“pull up your shirt, babe,” beomgyu breathes out as he fucks his fist. you obey so nicely, exposing your tits for him to spill all over. he can’t even be embarrassed that you just watched him jerk off for less than a minute before cumming. he fucking needed that.

he groans as he milks out the last of his orgasm, watching the white substance land onto your tits and stomach. he collects what landed on your stomach onto his fingers, then brings them up to your mouth. he doesn’t even have to tell you to open, you just do. you’re so well-trained for him already, it makes his heart skip a beat.

your tongue laps at his cum, keeping your eyes on him as you clean him off. he pops his fingers out and leans down to lick the rest of his cum off your tits. you bring a hand to his hair as his tongue licks a stripe up the valley of your breasts. beomgyu thinks he was made for this—to ruin your body, to fix it, to please it, to worship it. he feels like this is the right place in the world for him as he takes your nipple into his mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue around the bud.

you sigh out, tugging harder at his hair as he gives your other breast the same treatment. he releases your nipple with a pop, then flicks his tongue over it just to watch you jump a little. he soothes your tits with eager hands, fondling the flesh as he sits back between your legs, looking down at you with a proud smirk.

“i should shower,” you say, fixing your shirt back down. you sit up and stretch, and something about this moment feels so domestic.

“let me join you,” beomgyu suggests, pulling you in by the hips to sit you on his lap. you laugh a little as he does so, then try (and fail) to push away his face as he delivers a million kisses to your cheeks.

“stop,” you giggle, leaning away to escape him. he probably should stop; he’s going a lot further than just simple hook ups. he relents, choosing to just look at you instead. you’re so cute, just staring back at him and holding back a smile. you stay like that for a minute before you look away.

“go shower,” beomgyu says, patting your thigh. you get up and he follows behind you eagerly. you turn to him in the doorway of your bathroom, poking a finger against his chest.

“i didn’t say you could come with,” you say, but you don’t sound like you’re totally against it.

he pouts. “don’t make me wait out here all alone.” your eyes trail down his face, and beomgyu realizes that this smile of yours is quickly becoming one of his favorite things in the world.

you step aside. “fine, but keep your hands to yourself,” you say.

“i will,” he agrees with a wolfish grin. safe to say, beomgyu breaks that promise the second you’re both beneath the water.

[capseycartwright]

nudging into the crook of your partner's neck 🥺🥺

It had been a long shift. It had been a long week, if Buck was being entirely honest, but it had been a particularly long day. That was the thing, about firefighting – it had long, long days. It had started with a structure fire that had lasted for 12 of their 24, and after that, it had been call, after call, dinner a hurried UberEats order, Bobby’s ingredients left in the fridge for their next shift. As much as Buck loved being a firefighter, he hated shifts like this one – felt the tiredness deep in his bones.

Fifteen minutes.

They just had to survive fifteen more minutes until their shift change.

If he sat down, Buck wasn’t sure he’d ever peel himself off that firehouse couch, so he stayed standing. It was easier.

He couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth as he noticed Eddie approaching. His boyfriend – and it had been a few weeks now, but Buck still wasn’t used to that, being able to call Eddie his – looked dead tired, his eyes heavy with the need for sleep as he shuffled across the firehouse loft.

“Hey, honey,” Buck greeted softly, enjoying the way Eddie’s cheeks got a little pinker, at the petname. That was the joy, of being in the early stages of a new relationship – Buck was testing things out. It was fun.

“Mm,” Eddie made an agreeable noise, wrapping his arms around Buck’s waist. “I’m so tired.”

“Me too,” Buck agreed. This, the way Eddie was so affectionate, had been one of the best surprises of them starting to date – Buck hadn’t expected Eddie to crave touch, quite so much, but he did. They kept things mostly professional, at work, but with thirteen minutes to go until the end of their shift, Buck was not going to refuse an armful of Eddie.

“When we go home, can we just go straight to bed?”

Home.

When Eddie and Chris had come back from Texas, Buck hadn’t moved out, and that probably should have been a good indicator of where things were headed – and now, six weeks, a love confession or two, and several arguments about which sets of furniture to keep, they were officially living together in that perfect, sunny home on South Bedford.

“Definitely,” Buck agreed, and laughed, as Eddie nuzzled his face into the crook of his neck, Eddie’s arms slung loosely around Buck’s waist. “You really are tired, huh?”

Eddie nodded, the faint scratch of the beginnings of stubble rubbing roughly at his neck. He didn’t say anything, but he tightened his grip on Buck’s waist.

Pressing a kiss to the side of Eddie’s head, Buck tightened his own grip. He loved this – loved getting to hold Eddie like this. When he’d realised that he was in love with Eddie, he’d spent months trying to bury the feeling, convincing himself that Eddie would never feel the same, that he could never crave this, never have this, never get to have Eddie in his arms like this – so, sue him for indulging himself, even if they were at work.

Buck didn’t even realise he was swaying, slightly, until Hen arrived, a fond look on her face. “It looks like he’s asleep standing up,” she teased, her voice low.

Eddie’s breath was low, and even, a telltale sign he was definitely asleep. It was one of Eddie’s more impressive skills – his ability to sleep anywhere, even standing up. He probably had the army, to thank for that.

“He might be,” Buck grinned, holding Eddie a little tighter.

“’M awake,” Eddie mumbled, not moving his face from where it was nestled in the crook of Buck’s shoulder. “Just resting my eyes. You’re very comfortable.”

Buck snorted. “Thank you, baby.”

“You two are cavity inducing,” Hen teased good-naturedly.

Buck knew.

He was fine with it.

(Eddie was too.)

send me a physical intimacy prompt

[gayeddieagenda]

thinking about buck and all the stories he tells about himself and his relationships (buck 1.0, buck 2.0, 'i don't wanna be that guy anymore,'), his resistance to admitting he's in love with eddie and his persistent fears over being left alone. SOOOO many times he gets with people or stays with people because he likes the story he can tell himself about their relationship. he likes being with abby bc he likes being a different, more grown-up buck. he likes being with taylor bc he likes trying hard and making a relationship work, growing together, sticking with it. he likes being with tommy bc he likes learning something new about himself ('i think one of the reasons that i am so comfortable with you is because you're so comfortable with you'). he likes the story tommy lets him tells about himself, about jumping into being bisexual and dating a man with both feet and skip over all of his own uncertainty and insecurity around doing something new, around what might mean for him. and with eddie - buck /hates/ that story. 'as much as everyone seems to want me to be hopelessly pining for my straight best friend' - he is soo certain that that route is going to be misery from start to finish, because eddie's straight! because buck's not! because there's only one way that story ends, and it's in heartbreak and unhappiness for buck! that he's not even thinking about what he actually /feels/. he doesn't like the story that (he thinks) everyone is telling about him and eddie, so he thinks he can opt out. he thinks knowing yourself enough to see heartbreak coming means you can just step to the side and avoid it. and that's the lesson he's going to have to learn!!

[seventeenpins]

a slight miscalculation - pt. iii

pairing: Joel x F!Reader

word count: 5.4k

summary: You hooked up with Joel months earlier, before you both realized you’re his daughter’s housemate. Now, you’re in Austin for a week, and Joel might lose his mind.

content/warnings: lovers to almost enemies to worse enemies???, age gap, marijuana use, Tess is queer and married to Marlene, Tommy Miller is sleep deprived, Joel is stuck on you and is handling it BADLY, Ellie is nonbinary, tension tension tension

a/n: Hi everyone!! I'm sorry, this chapter is a year late 🫣 Hope y'all enjoy, and still want to see more of these two!

pt. i • pt. ii

MONDAY

A soft glow of light illuminates the room beneath the blinds. Joel is adrift in the most soothing comfort that can only come from a cool space and a warm nest of covers. It's a lazy, velvet repose. He's on his belly, his aching limbs sprawled across the bed, totally lost in sleep.  As he slips from pleasant dream to pleasant dream, he knows that, if given the chance, he would stay in this bed forever.

But something has started pressing on his back.

This weight started tentatively, a gentle, hesitant pressure. The walls of his dreams began contracting towards him, the space shrinking, setting off a sharp twist of panic in his unconscious state. Joel rolls over.

The pressure wanes for a moment before it reshapes itself, grows, and becomes targeted, dividing itself into multiple prodding jabs. It's unbelievably heavy. Needle-like points emerge and begin to scrape and stab-- and that smell.

Something richly fishy is overwhelming his nostrils, hot and horrible.

He tries to claw at the enclosing walls, tries to force the rancid fish smell away from him, but his arms don't work. He can't move.

It's all too much.

Joel wakes with a start, and the stab he'd felt all over his abdomen hooks deeper, moving with him as he thrashes. After a moment, his vision focuses and he discovers a very satisfied, fish-breathed feline latching claws-first to his sleep tee, grooming his jaw with the utmost enthusiasm.

"Jesus Christ," Joel howls, grabbing on and trying to hold the little criminal to his body as he does his best to roll over and sit up. This was a classic Miller move that he'd executed thousands of times with Sarah's childhood cat, the imaginatively named Kitty, an elderly ginger tabby from the local rescue. 

Unfortunately for Joel, Spatula was not Kitty.

His attempt at relying on muscle memory betrayed him immediately. The second that Spatula felt Joel's arms tightening around him, he did his best to wriggle out of the grasp, clawing Joel the whole way up his body before launching off his chest and yowling throughout the entire exit. Joel watches furiously as he disappears past the door frame.

He drags a palm down his face and sits up, yanking his shirt off and taking a moment to examine the scratches that streak their way up his chest.

The scratches aren't deep, but they do sting.

Please, he begs the universe, let this not be an omen of the week to come.

After disinfecting the scratches, Joel dresses quickly.

The moment he steps onto the downstairs landing, he’s gut-punched with so much joy he almost forgets his frustrations. He’s greeted by the sight of his family. 

Sarah sits at the kitchen table, a steaming cup of coffee on the table before her. Maria stands behind her, neatly sectioning her hair. Tommy’s dead asleep, draped haphazardly across the sofa, baby asleep in the carrier next to him. They’re snoring together in unison. 

Joel heads straight towards his girl, ready to wrap her in a hug. Unfortunately, he doesn’t clock you turning the corner, heading right towards him, your own coffee in hand. A sudden “Dad!” rings out, and he halts abruptly, but you still crash into him, your coffee spilling over you both, staining his t-shirt, making your tank cling to your chest.

He averts his eyes, gracelessly conspicuous.

“Dad,” Sarah calls, gesturing up at Maria whose fingers hadn’t stopped deftly braiding, “Could you get her a towel?”

“Oh. Oh yeah-,” Joel snaps out of his affect, turning to the kitchen drawers. A moment later, a tea towel is being thrust towards you. You pat yourself down.

“Mr. Miller,” you nod towards him in greeting. You’d hoped it would break the tension, but he stiffens, and you immediately feel worse. 

Joel huffs, shaking his head. “Sorry bout that, sweetheart,” he says, and falls back into awkward silence. His lack of eye contact would be almost funny, if it didn’t sting quite so much.

But no. You will not let this ruin your holiday. There’s plenty to do, and you’re here with your best friends, and you will not let this man’s absolute petrification make you feel bad.

“Where’s Ellie?” You ask, and, to your surprise, Joel’s the one who responds.

“Oh, I think they said they were stepping onto the porch for a smoke.”

“Thanks,” you shrug, still dabbing yourself with the tea towel. 

Maria and Sarah are in a world of their own, chatting and laughing, and you catch Joel looking at you. You head to the door. You can feel his eyes on you, and you turn around to look back. Possessed by some surge of small insanity, you pull away the tea towel. At first, he mostly just looks ashamed at the sheer amount of liquid he managed to spill on you, but then you see his eyes widen as it dawns on him just how wet the fabric really is, and how he can see the outline of your areolas, pebbled nipples poking against the fabric. With a wink, you open the door and step out, leaving Joel agog.

Ellie sits on the porch swing, joint in hand, humming along to the music presumably playing through their headphones. Their sketchbook is laid haphazardly next to them, papers rustling in the breeze. You walk over and wave, announcing your presence without startling them. They grinned, seeing you, and pulled off their headphones.

“Wake and bake?” you ask.

“I am on vacation!” they announce. “You want a hit?”

“Sure,” You snort, and reach out for the joint. “So, did you smuggle weed through security, or did you already find a plug?”

“Nah, I know it’d stress the hell out of Sarah if anything went wrong. I found a plug.”

You take a hit, coughing a little on the exhale. “Do I want to know?”

They smile, mischievous. “Probably not.”

Then they notice the wet front of your shirt, and frown. “Was drinking coffee a challenge for you today?”

“Didn’t even get a cup of coffee,” you grumble, “Mr Miller bumped into me, and my coffee went over both of us.”

“Oh, damn-”

You sigh. “Yeah.”

The two of you sit in companionable silence for a minute, passing the joint back and forth. The breeze is light and the weather surprisingly pleasant.

“You know, I have a lot of mixed feelings about the South,” Ellie says, “But I gotta say, they got porches right.”

“Oh yeah?” you laugh.

“Yep,” they nod, somber. “It’s a classic feature of southern architecture that should be more popular nationwide. Love a porch.”

“I… do not disagree,” you nod. Then, you glance at their sketchbook. “Oh, these are cool! Are you focusing on porches this week?”

They shrug. “I dunno. Maybe? But there’s just so much cool stuff. I’ve never travelled much, and there’s so much I want to render.”

“May I?” you ask, gesturing at the pages.

“Go for it!”

You examine the sketches. A few are simple, some basic shape studies. And then they evolve. Some are neat, others more careless, but each is a recognisable depiction of the houses across the cul-de-sac.

“I don’t know how you can see things like this,” you gesture at the page, awed, “Like, it’s so true to life, but so much more that it? I know if I took a picture of those houses, it wouldn’t look like this.”

Ellie grins. It’s one of your favorite things about them; their confidence. They know what they’re good at, and you envy their ability to take a compliment.

“Well,” they take a drag, “What do you see when you look at the houses in front of you?”

You contemplate. You should have an answer. An artistic answer. Something clever. But instead. “I just see fucking houses.”

Ellie snorts. “Okay, so. These sketches are black and white, so I’m not focused on color here. But I am focused on light. So. What are the brightest bits of that house?” They point just across the way, and you consider.

“Um… The trim, along the underside of the roof? And around the windows. Oh, and the way the light’s hitting the drainpipe!”

“Exactly! Now, what are the darkest bits.”

“Well, since the light’s hitting the front, I guess the shadows on the side? So the front’s kinda a middle-tone, right? But the shadows under the siding, too, are dark.”

“You’ve got it,” they smile, enthused. “It’s really just about seeing the world like that. In shades of light. And the more you can see, the more you break it down into smaller and smaller pieces.”

“And then adding in color?”

“That’ll be your next lesson,” they laugh, “You just work on seeing the light first.”

“Just need to see the light,” you snort, “Will it cure me of my wicked ways?”

“Absolutely not,” Ellie grins, “With any luck, you’ll get even wicked-er.”

With that, they put out the end of their joint, and start assembling their things.

“Hey, random question–” you blurt, before Ellie can get up and go inside, before you can stop yourself. “What do you think of, uh. Of Sarah’s dad, Mr Miller?”

“Oh, that old man’s cool.” Ellie answers immediately.

“Yeah?” you ask, smiling in spite of yourself. Another thing you admire in Ellie is their absolute refusal to be made uncomfortable in service of others. If someone was being a dick, Ellie would be the one to step in, and they made themself plenty of enemies like that. But it also meant they were selective in their friendships and, beyond anything else, fiercely loyal. You trust their judgement.

Thank fuck for Ellie.

“I mean, shit, did you see his movie collection?” they continue, “And, he’s not misgendered me once, so I think we’re off to a good start. His friend’s cool, too! I was talking with Tess before she left last night and she and her wife invited me to a dyke night this week. So, I mean. I could be wrong. But I’m not getting any bad vibes. He’s a middle aged dude who’s actually a good dad, has lesbian friends, and has good taste in movies. Basically a walking green flag.”

“Cool,” you say. “Yeah. That is a lot of good stuff.”

It’s overwhelming, honestly. Because even those small things, listed off as bullet points, were significant. They weren’t the reasons you were stuck on him, but part of the bigger picture. Those small pieces that form the whole. 

Immediately, the urge to tell them what happened between you hits. You want to unload, want to tell them how much you think about that night with Joel. That the man that’s consuming too many of your waking thoughts happens to be just yards away, through that door, spending time with your best friend, his daughter.

But you don’t. 

It’s all too much.

“You coming back inside?” Ellie asks, hand on the doorknob.

You shake your head. “Nah, need just a little more air.”

“Cool,” they nod, “Well if you need any more weed, let me know.”

“You got it. Thanks, El.”

They pull the door open, but look back at you.

“Hey,” they ask, suddenly serious, “Are… Are you okay?”

“I? Yeah, I’m fine. What do you mean?”

“I dunno. You just seem a little bit off, maybe?”

“Well. I’m good.”

They look at you, searching your face for something.

“Okay, well. If you’re sure. And if there is something, and you’re just worried about it, or processing it or whatever. You know you can tell me, right?”

You look at them, and feel a surge of love in your belly.

“I know. And I won’t forget it. Thanks Ellie.”

They nod, and slip back inside.

You spend the next fifteen minutes on the porch swing, breathing in the air around you. It’s a change, for certain, and change can be a beautiful thing.

As you survey the block, you try to consider the light.

When you head back inside, Maria’s dipping the tips of Sarah’s hair in boiling water, and Tommy’s still passed out on the couch.

“I think that’s there for you!” Sarah calls over, pointing at a steaming cup of coffee on the counter. 

You frown, turning to look. Next to the cup of coffee is a small note in neat, straightforward block capitals. 

It’s a surprise, and the gesture makes your stomach flip. He’s just being nice, you remind yourself, trying to keep the peace. Maybe he thinks that if he pisses you off enough, you’ll tell Sarah just to spite him.

You hope he doesn’t think you so spiteful. But even if he does, as pathetic as it is, you know that at least this little note proves one thing to you: he does think of you.

That knowledge stays with you the whole day.

Your first full day in Austin is, admittedly, a pretty good day. 

The entire Miller clan had taken you and Ellie downtown. Tommy and Maria led the charge, with little Benjamin in his stroller. You did tourist-y things, Joel grumbling the entire time, but even he was in a good mood with his daughter so close. 

You all go for lunch, and then split off. Tommy and Maria have errands. Joel suggests a walk. Ellie decides to break off and visit an art museum, and you’re left to decide what to do.

“You’re more than welcome to come with,” Ellie says, “But I can’t promise that I won’t geek out. Looks like there’s an exhibition by one of my favorite contemporary painters and I gotta try not to lick the paintings.”

You nearly say yes, not even considering another option, but then–

“You know, we got rain a couple weeks ago. I’m sure they’re not at their peak, but we did have some cool fungus for a bit there. Wouldn’t be surprised if you can find something interesting along the way,” Joel said, rubbing the back of his neck, looking sheepish.

“Ooh, dad, yeah! Honestly I’m surprised you remembered that she studies mycology.” Sarah’s eyes widen just the littlest bit, impressed. Then, she turns back to you. “What would you like to do. Art or mushrooms?”

You grimace and shake your head. “Damn. I gotta do mushrooms.”

And that settled it. To fungus you went.

TUESDAY

All things considered, Spatula was a very good boy.

You’d heard later last night that he’d had a bit of an incident with Joel. To Joel’s credit, he wasn’t bitter or mean, just a little hesitant about the cat.

This morning, you awoke to your small goblin blessedly minding his own business, conked out on your pillow next to you. You enjoyed your coffee without causing a single spill, and managed to avoid physically running into Joel.

Tommy and Maria dropped by again for breakfast at ten, and slowly, everyone else emerged. Sarah was first, freshly showered after her run. She’s a beacon of joy, swinging her braids around her shoulders as she gets used to the new sensation again. She’s so delighted to be home, and to be around family. 

Family, you think. It’s… nice. It’s also, admittedly, not really your thing.

Ellie emerges with charcoal smudges all over their hands, a few messy fingerprints at their temples where they’ve brushed their hair back, stoned as a skunk. 

Joel seemed more relaxed today, too, as though now that the first day was over, maybe it wasn’t quite so bad. Maybe this didn’t have to be a problem?

Once breakfast was over, Joel had babysitting duties until early afternoon. You all felt a bit tired, that shift from place to place wearying, so you opted to stay at home, at least for the time being.

Sarah doted on her cousin, bouncing him on her lap, tickling his tummy till he gurgled and burped, howling with giggles. As you watch her, you glance aside to take a look at Joel. You swear you can see his eyes water as he gazes at his daughter and nephew. 

Ellie plugged in their PS4 and, after some coaxing, and Benjamin safe in Sarah’s arms, Joel joined them. They played round after round of the Crash Team Racing remaster. Ellie was bloodthirsty, but once Joel started getting the hang of it, he was frustratingly good.

“C’mon, old man, how’d you get that box!” Ellie yelled, as Joel cackled, hitting a “?” crate, evading Ellie’s assaults. 

Joel smirked, and Ellie narrowed their eyes and batted him on the knee.

The afternoon was pleasant. A much needed respite.

Joel felt strangely comfortable, despite his company. Ellie was a funny kid, he’ll give them that. They’ve taken him off guard so many times, but he’s trying to play it cool, and not get too outsmarted by another 19 year old. Sarah keeps him on his toes enough already.  

And it was nice, if he’s honest, but he can’t be honest. Maybe just to himself, for a moment? And it feels dangerous, but he wants to let himself be honest. Just in his own head. Just for right now. Because it’s just- It’s so nice to see you. To hear you laugh. See the way that you light up when you’re talking about something that excites you. He never stopped dreaming about you, and now he sees the bits he got wrong. Where a memory smoothed a wrinkle, or straightened a hair, you’re vivacious around him. So fucking vibrant. Too fucking real.

It feels so good to have life back in the house. He’s been so grateful for Tommy and Maria in his life, and his little nephew. But at the end of the day, it’s just him again. Alone in a big, empty house.

He’s determined to enjoy it, just for this week. Pretend everything is perfect.

Then he steps into the room, turning the corner, expecting to look over to Sarah. Instead, he sees you, and you’re bouncing Benjamin on your knee. In a moment, his heart stops. 

Nope. This sure as fuck could not be happening. Because in an instant, he is bricked up beyond all reason and possibility, and without being able to stop it, he’s staring at you, memories flashing through his head. He stumbles into the room, and stops abruptly, dropping into the nearest armchair, half paralyzed with how overwhelmed he now is. The way you’d spoken to him that night you shared, the line that runs in circles round his head every night since, as he tries to tire himself out with his fist around his cock and guilt and pleasure in his belly, as he remembered the way you rode him, coaxing him along all the way, “It's okay, daddy, you can let go–”

He needs to be inside you. He needs to tear your clothing off, needs to hear your moans again. Bury himself deep and fuck up into you till tears run down your cheeks as you come around him, urging him along. He wants to press deep into you when he comes, knowing how sweet you’d feel, clenching around him. To fuck you full of him, of his child–

But no–

What he actually needs, is to fucking stop. It ain’t right. You’re his kid’s friend. Her roommate. He shouldn’t be thinking about you at all, let alone fantasizing about you. He’s a dirty old man. A fucking pervert. Unfit for society, probably. 

All these thoughts blinked by in a moment, and it’s then that he refocuses his eyes and realizes you’re looking at him.

He frowns, face heating, immediately worried you’ve read his thoughts. He fumbles for a throw pillow, trying to inconspicuously settle it across his lap.

You’re looking at him with such confusion written across your face.

Joel feels automatically defensive. “What, what is it?” He snaps.

The confusion dissipates. It’s replaced by a resigned, exhausted expression.

“Sorry, I thought you’d heard me. I said you could sit closer if you wanted. Have a turn with Benny.”

“Oh.” He deflates, and immediately feels like an asshole. But his raging boner was still a matter of issue, so he shakes his head. “Nah, I’m good here.”

“I don’t bite.” You tell him, lamely. 

To your utmost surprise, Joel snorts, a thing of actual amusement, “Oh, sweetheart. We both know that ain’t true.”

Immediately, he regrets saying it, looking terribly abashed, his face continuing its journey in shades of flushed. You nearly laugh in response, but you’re half-paralyzed with the surprise of it.

And then, before either of you can respond, Sarah steps back into the room, fresh cup of coffee in hand, ready to resume time with her cousin.

She sits down next to you, totally oblivious, and reaches for Benjamin. It’s only as you pass him back that she sees her dad in the armchair across the room.

“Oh, hey dad! You’re so far away! Wanna hang out with us?”

“Sure, baby.” Joel grimaces, possibly aiming for a smile, and nods. He stands up gingerly. Sarah’s not paying close attention, but you see the way Joel rearranges himself, moves the throw pillow off his lap, and makes his way over.

For the briefest moment as he adjusts, his t-shirt rides up the tiniest bit. In that instant, you can see the line of him, see that he’s hard, and that he’s got his entire cock tucked up into his waistband, getting choked by his belt. You catch his eye, and he turns away, pulling his tee the littlest bit lower.

You make up some excuse, some reason to leave, and you slip out of the room.

Fuck. Fuck. Joel Miller’s gonna be the death of you.

Afternoon turns to evening, and Maria and Tommy join the group, followed shortly by Tess and her wife, Marlene. You band together and place a massive takeout order, 

You were thrilled, actually. After dinner was finished, you got to have an evening alone. Joel and Sarah were going to see a movie. Tommy and Maria were heading home. Tess, Marlene, and Ellie were all going to Dyke Night. 

You loved your housemates, you really did. But, when you think about it, you realize it’s been months since you had a proper night home alone.

The Millers had a hot tub, and tonight, you intend to use it.

Ellie, Tess and Marlene leave first. The event starts at 8pm, but Ellie’s so excited to go out, they leave at 7. Tess and Marlene insist that they’ll take good care of Ellie. It’s not their usual scene these days, but they’re both gripped by Ellie’s enthusiasm, delighted to show them the local scene.

Joel and Sarah headed out a little bit later, planning to catch a movie. Sarah had told you before how she and her dad like to go out to the movies. It’s a holdover from childhood, she’d told you. When she was really little, he’d rent a movie every Friday. Then, with Sarah playing contractor, and Joel playing foreman, they’d construct a pillow fort, built for maximum structural integrity.

By the time they started their movie, she’d be getting sleepy, but they’d stay up together anyway. And, when she fell asleep, her dad would carry her up to bed and tuck her in gently, looking forward to doing it all again next week.

It was their time together. Their sanctuary. A tired, overworked single dad, and the most important thing in his entire world; his baby girl.

Once they had left, you took a deep breath. Finally, you were alone. You have a few hours to yourself before you’ll expect anyone back, and that goddamn hot tub is calling to you. 

As Joel drives, some song plays on the radio that catapults them back to Sarah’s childhood. He’s not certain, but thinks it might be an Avril Lavigne one. She was one of her favorites. He almost thinks if he looks over, he might see that sweet, smart, skinny kid next to him. But instead, it’s even better. His beautiful, brilliant daughter is grown. Such a wonderful woman, inside and out. And not only that, she wants to spend time with her old man.

Joel nods his head, and Sarah starts singing along, belting out the lyrics the way she’s done since she was little. He grins as she shimmies her shoulders through the instrumental break, and he hums along with her as she takes on the next chorus.

The song ends, and Sarah erupts in giggles, and Joel reaches for her hand, and she gives it a firm squeeze.

Then, a loud pop sounds, and the car jolts, the front left dipping forwards.

Joel curses, body surging with tension, tugging his hand from hers to grab onto the wheel, navigating the suddenly swerving car over to the shoulder. 

“You okay?” He asks, heart pounding, turning to Sarah. 

She nods rapidly, turns back to him. “Are you okay, dad?”

“Uh-huh,” he nods, and puts a hand on her cheek, looking her over. He nods again, satisfied, and steps out of the car.

He moves to the front of the car, out of the way of the traffic zipping by, and curses.

“Yep,” he says to Sarah as he sits back in the driver’s side. “Big ol’ nail’s gone right through it. Blown the tire. God dammit.”

“We got a spare?” Sarah asks.

Joel sighs, putting his fist to his forehead and considering. “Yeah. That should get us off the side of the road at least.

He gets out and starts to work, pulling out the jack, and some other tools. He loosens the lug nuts and raises the car.

All in all, it doesn’t take all that long to swap the flat for the spare. But, he knows, he won’t be able to go over 50mph with the spare. It’s a busy week, too, with so many people travelling, so he’ll need to get it fixed sooner rather than later, especially getting Sarah back to the airport–

Goddammit.

He lowers the car again, and inspects his work.

“All done?” Sarah asks.

“All done.” He nods, wiping grease from his fingers.

“Think we can still make a movie?” Sarah grins, hopeful.

Joel winces and shakes his head. “I’m sorry, babygirl. I think I gotta get this tire taken care of. Can’t drive on it for long.”

“Oh,” Sarah deflates. “No, of course!”

“How about tomorrow night?” Joel asks.

She considers, then brightens. “Actually, I was gonna see a friend tomorrow. But I might be able to swap days! Let me check with her–”

Sarah taps away on his phone, and Joel peers at his own phone. He’ll find the number for the 24/7 tire folks. 

A moment later, Sarah hops up with a “Yes! Alright, she’ll pick me up from the intersection down there. And then you and I can do a movie tomorrow night!”

“Alright kiddo,” he nods, “Sounds like a plan. I’ll be able to get back, and I’ll have the tire guys come tonight. You want a ride to the corner?”

“I’m good,” she smiles, “I need the walk.”

He nods again. His wonderful, independent girl. “Be safe tonight, hon,” he tells her, “Call me if you need anything.”

“Thanks dad,” she smiles, and pulls him in for a hug.

He hugs her back, tight. She breaks away, waves, and heads off.

He watches his daughter as she goes.

Joel’s night is now wide open, but even despite the cancelled plans, it doesn’t feel lonely the way most of his nights do. Instead of empty and hollow, he feels full of life. Full of possibility. Before he even left, he called the tire service. To Joel’s surprise, they have an opening right now, and they're mobile. He gives them his address and lets them know he’ll be home in 20. They say they'll meet him there in 30, and he drives back, careful of the spare.

The mechanic gets to work quickly, and fifteen minutes later, he’s heading back out. A weight lifts from Joel’s chest. One less thing to worry about.

Joel steps through the garage door into the kitchen. He kicks aside his shoes and shrugs off his jacket, rolling his aching shoulders, trying to rid them of tension. 

He digs around in the fridge, navigating between takeout boxes, to find a can of Bud Lite hiding at the back. 

He cracks it open, immediately feeling the tension leave his body at the sound of the sizzle. Then, he takes a swig, sits down in his favorite recliner, and realizes– something is off.

The back porch light, to be exact.

It was on a motion sensor, and no one ever turned it on. There were guests, of course, so someone could have turned it on. But there’s also been a family of raccoons that has been inching closer and closer to the house, and he’d be damned if they were getting into the garbage.

He steps out, prepared to wave his hands at his feral guests in hopes of herding them away.

Instead, he sees you. Sat in the hot tub.

Joint in one hand, glass of wine in the other.

And you’re completely naked.

In a blink, any surprise or confusion Joel may have felt turns into fury.

He storms out, slamming open the sliding glass door. You jump, whipping your head towards him in an instant. The wine splashes down you, blindingly cold against the heat of your skin, trailing down your collarbone, between your tits. By sheer dumb luck, you manage to keep hold of the joint.

You can hear Joel’s words before you can even see his face.

“Are you fucking kidding me, woman?”

“Jesus christ, Joel, I thought you were gonna be out!”

“So what, you just decided to sit your naked ass down in my hot tub?”

“Dude, I’m sorry. I didn’t think to bring a swimsuit, and Sarah said it was okay! You said you were going to a movie–”

“You’re a pain in my fuckin’ ass, you know that?”

Now, he’s pissing you off. “What have I actually done to you, Joel, really? I’m not making this difficult. You are.”

“What have you done?” He growls, and a rage boils in you as he sneers. “I’ll fuckin’ tell ya. You hooked your fuckin’ claws into me. Made me absolutely stupid with ya. And now you’re here, and Sarah could find out exactly what kinda piece of shit her dad really is. You’re just parading around–”

You’re done. You’re fucking done. You take your time relighting your joint, making sure to take a deep drag as he glares daggers at you. And then you catch movement at the screen door, still open behind Joel. 

Panic rises up in you. Your boy. Your beautiful cat son. A small little man who does not know how to survive in the wild.

“Spatula!” you shout, and Joel doesn’t turn, just frowns.

You jump up, entirely unconcerned about your own nakedness, and hurtle towards the door, realization suddenly dawning upon Joel.

The little criminal howls in defeat. You scoop him up  before he can get more than a single paw outside.

Naked but the cat in your arms, you turn to him, words laced with venom. “Parading around, Joel?” you ask, voice quiet but dangerous. You don’t try to cover yourself. Joel’s jaw clenches, grinding his teeth. 

He takes a breath. “I’m– I’m sor–”

You cut him off. You don’t want to hear it. “Fuck you, Joel. Fuck you.”

You storm inside, and head to the room deemed yours for the next few days. Rubbing angry tears from your eyes, you place Spatula on your bed and towel off properly, slipping into pajamas. You smoke the last of the joint through the bedroom window, and try to clear your mind. It’s not polite, smoking inside like that, but frankly you’d like to piss him off, if you can. At least that would be a reasonable thing for him to be angry about.

You go to sleep, a lump in your throat, and tears stinging your eyes.

[goosensuch]

ur all crazy for believing that Buck denying his feelings for Eddie means he doesn’t have feelings for Eddie.

I know this sounds counter intuitive. but I think if they were telling the audience that Buck loves Eddie as a friend, he would be reacting very differently to Eddie leaving.

in the context of the episode, buck spends the whole time talking about eddie and processing that eddie is gone. We saw the reactions eddies friends and collegues had to his departure, they are happy for him. buck cannot be.

Furthermore, so far in the season, his entire arc is losing Eddie. If the show was working towards buck and tommy getting back together, his feelings for tommy would have been raised at least once. instead, for the whole three episodes, buck is freaking out over Eddie leaving.

My point being, narratively speaking, buck’s arc is about Eddie, not about Tommy.

Now yes, buck and Tommy did hook up. But they hooked up in Eddie’s house, and 1/2 conversations we saw them have was about Eddie. Eddie looms like a fridged wife over their hook up and the narrative. and now we get to the denial.

The show is textually introducing the concept of Buck being in love with Eddie. This needs to be done because while a lot of fans are seeing the chemistry between the characters, there’s an epistemic gap that needs to be bridged to where the show itself can make their relationship into Plot.

We are starting thus, with their dynamic as codependent best friends. It would be boring to have Buck wake up one morning and simply come to the conclusion that he is in love with Eddie. This realisation has to come from a level of conflict in the story. Buck has to change in some way, grow or evolve in order to reach this conclusion. So, this episode was the set up to begin that growth. The idea of him being in love with Eddie is introduced, and he vehemently denies it.

BUT the denial is rather weak.

“You live in his house” - “it’s not his house, he’s a renter”

“You have feelings for him” - “he’s straight, plus I don’t have to sleep with everyone I have feelings for.”

In the scene with Tommy, he doesn’t even say that he’s not in love with Eddie, he is flustered, gives excuses, then lashes out because the conversation is uncomfortable.

In the grander scheme, the textual confirmation that Tommy broke up with Buck because he saw Eddie as competition adds more credence to Buck and Eddie being the end game couple here, not Buck and Tommy. We don’t see any of Tommy’s interior world, his thoughts or feelings. If this was about Tommy’s insecurities, it would be established that way. When it is raised in this latest episode, Buck would have gone “no girl, I don’t like him I liked you, why did u break up with me over that?” And we would get a scene of them deepening their bond and discussing their insecurities.

Instead, Buck lashes out in discomfort, pushes Tommy away again, and then goes to Maddie. His main take away from his conversation with Tommy is him being in love with Eddie. If it was about Tommy, the conversation would focus on how Buck hurt Tommy, how he feels guilty and needs to make amends. While this does come up, the focus of the conversation is the Eddie thing. Again, Buck denies his feelings, using Eddie’s heterosexuality as a shield. Maddies reaction here is more interesting to me. Her calling into question Buck’s feelings towards Eddie, as someone close to Buck, is confirmation to me that buck is not a reliable narrator of his own emotions at the moment. She has seen his journey to discovering his sexuality, and understands that he is sometimes clueless to the obvious things in front of him. Her calmly calling into question how he feels is the first time he is given space to consider this reality.

Once again, if it was about Tommy, the Eddie thing would be discussed as something Tommy said, why he might think that. But the main focus is on whether Buck is in love with Eddie or not.

On a separate note, Buck is baking again. He’s not baking over his break up with Tommy, he’s baking over his loss of Eddie. This parallel, showing bucks feelings for Tommy as equivalent to his feelings for Eddie, by showing him coping with their loss in the same way, is honest to god textual evidence that buddie is going canon. Yes it’s a small detail but I think an important one.

Buck isn’t even aware that he’s doing it, he’s absentmindedly baking from the moment Eddie leaving becomes real. Much like he’s unaware of how he feels about Eddie. He’s coping the same way out of instinct.

While his words speak to one reality, his actions speak to another. There is a very clear line being drawn between how Buck is reacting to Eddie leaving, and how everyone else is feeling. Textually introducing Buck being in love with Eddie with a denial of this does not necessitate Buck not being in love with Eddie. It speaks to an arc beginning. If the arc was Buck and Tommy being getting back together, Buck would be focused on their hook up and conversation, not on whether he’s hypothetically in love with his straight best friend.