#he described it as a tooth cracking sound

[erwinsvow]

𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬

summary: how you and rafe got started <3

author's note: if i could stop losing my brain cells over rafe cameron for a minute that would be great but i can't so here it is <3 this is mostly cute but in the shea cinematic universe this establishes the beginning of what can only be a hopelessly codependent relationship <3 more parts to come! also none of this would be written without the surge of inspo i get from reading every single one of @princessbrunette's posts but in particular this one, this one, and this<3 one!

now spinning: one of the girls by the weeknd & jennie

Rafe’s always thought you were cute. 

Cute, he’d think to himself in passing, on a hot summer day when he was getting ready to take beers from the fridge and go find the boys at the country club. He didn’t need to steal anything, the waitress at the club always gave him whatever drink he asked for, but he just felt like taking them from the house today. 

You were dawdling around the house with a bored Sarah, all dressed up with nowhere to go. Sarah was texting on her phone, likely engaging in a virtual fight with Topper. He’d feel bad, but the two of them did it to themselves. You were at the counter with Wheezie, leaning on your elbows while the two of you discussed something. He didn’t really care, until he met your eyes for a second. 

Cute. The way you met his eyes and then looked away, face heating up. You were in a bikini and a coverup, probably waiting for his sister before spending the day on the beach or at the pool. The cover up was white and see through, covering everything to the point where no one could see anything but the faint yellow of your bikini underneath.

Leaning on the counter, when you looked away, he got a glimpse into the top of your dress. He could make out little yellow flowers on the material of your bikini and the outline of your tits squeezed against each other. 

He grabbed a beer and opened it with his back tooth, spitting the cap out on the counter next to Wheezie’s book.

“Ew, Rafe, get your spit molecules away from my book.”

“Who reads in the summer anyways? You should be glad for my spit if it makes you stop.”

“It’s my summer reading, Rafe, not everyone can just skip their assignments and get away with it.”

“Please, what have I skipped?”

You and Wheezie turn to look at each other and start laughing. He cracks a smile too, unexpectedly.

“Actually, it’s a great book. You’re missing out, Rafe,” you say, with a smile gracing your face, and he realizes he’s never actually heard the sound of your voice. You’ve maybe said hi to him twice, and both times Sarah had dragged you away within seconds. You even sound cute. His name on your tongue sounds even cuter.

“Really? Maybe I need to give it a try.” You laugh again, meeting his eyes this time. 

“You can’t have my copy, I already put my annotations in this one-“

“Stop yapping, Wheeze. I’m not gonna take yours.”

“Actually you have a copy in the library upstairs. I borrowed it last summer.”

“Really, kid? Wanna come find it with me?”

Your face heats up so much you turn away. He smiles then, and he smiles again when you follow him up to the library.

“This one is fantastic too, it’s about this young girl in England-” your voice continues to describe the plot of the book in your hand. You shelve it and then your eyes immediately land on another, another classic, another favorite. You ramble off the description but Rafe’s hardly paying attention.

He’s trying to recall when you had become so cute, so pretty. He thinks he’s never noticed you after you walk away with Sarah, or when he walks away from you two lounging on pool chairs, your nose in a book like always.

This is different. When had you become so irresistible?

Your pretty hair falls down your back. It sticks to your neck when the two of you are outside in the sun, in the heat. He has an urge to lick the sweat off just to see how you’d blush and feel how you’d squirm. Your eyes are warm and bright, but you’re still too shy to meet his blue ones, even when it’s just the two of you.

And it has been. Just the two of you, recently, almost all of the time. Sarah’s always off with her stupid friends and Wheeze is at home doing her summer work. 

The two of you travel to every ice cream parlor in the eight in the next few weeks. Conversation comes easily, even though you have nothing in common. He hasn’t picked up a bag from his dealer since he started talking to you, he realizes. Hasn’t felt the need to get high.

You’ve never even smoked weed, much less snorted coke. You’ll drink at a party with Sarah, but not too much, and you always end up being the sober friend holding back the vomiting girl’s hair. At the bonfire that he invites you to, your eyes keep darting around, seeing if anyone needs your help. 

Rafe moves so he’s standing right in front of you, blocking your view.

“Hey, kid,” he says quietly, leaning in. You’re boxed in, with Rafe and only Rafe on your mind. The clean, attractive scent of his cologne. The way it lingers on his clothes, like the button up you’re wearing over your pink dress.

He picks up the red cup in your hand and places it on the log beside you, balancing his beer next to it. His hands are cold from the bottle but you don’t mind much. He takes your wrists first, holding them in place, and then slides down so your hands are touching. 

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” You were looking down at the hands, where the two of you were connected, but his voice makes you look up. He’s looking at you, and you want to hide your face. Your fingers twitch beneath Rafe’s grip. He holds on even tighter. “Don’t look away, princess. We gotta work on that, huh?”

You feel your face heating up at the nickname. You wish you were home so you could scream into your pillow.

“Sorry, sorry,” you scramble, trying to look up but you can’t find the strength or the will.

You’re embarrassed. Of course you are—this is Rafe, and you’re just you. Rafe is the one you’ve had a crush on since you knew what crushes were, and you are still the awkward little thing you were the first time you met him. 

His gaze burning holes through you makes you want to run and hide. Because this is Rafe, and right now you’re one of his girls. The ones Sarah’s complained about the whole time she’s known you—they get too attached, act all clingy, and then are replaced before long. 

You hear Rafe’s quiet laughter. You’re still boxed in, feeling hot and clammy even though he’d given you his button up not thirty minutes ago because you felt cold. 

“What’re you saying sorry for?” You look up quickly, and then look back down. Then Rafe’s hands leave yours, and he holds up your chin until you’re looking right into his eyes. “Hmm?”

You feel like puking. 

“I-I just, well I just-”

“You just what?”

“I don’t think I can be, um, be one of your flingy, uh fling-type girls. So, you know, maybe all of this isn’t a good idea.”

“Fling-type girls?” he questions. He’s holding back a laugh, which makes you irrationally upset. You shove hard against his chest to free yourself from the cage of his arms. 

“Yes, your fling-type girls. You have a new girl on your arm every week, and everyone knows it, and I refuse to be one of them, because it’s just embarrassing and dehumanizing,” he watches you ramble on. He smiles, but you don’t notice. “And frankly, I deserve better than that.”

“Are you done?” You glare back at him.

“Yes, and not because you said that. I was done anyway.”

“Good.” Your face drops for a second, thinking you overstepped and totally overreached regarding his intentions, but then Rafe surprises you—he leans in and kisses you. 

You weren’t expecting a playground peck, but the way he’s kissing you completely surpasses any and all expectations (and fantasies) you’d dreamt up. His grip on your hips is hard, and his tongue is almost down your throat. It’s messy, and wet, and when he pulls away, there’s strings of spit connecting you to each other. 

You should wipe your mouth before anyone sees, but you don’t. Your heart is racing, and you can barely speak, much less move. 

“If I wanted you to be one of my girls, I wouldn’t have spent the last three weeks listening to you blab about books and buying you ice cream. You’re gonna be my only girl, and that’s that, okay?”

You nod dumbly—words and motions still not quite back yet. You feel flushed. People’s eyes are on you both.

“Now, do you wanna head out and go get a cone?” You nod again. “Good girl. And watch your mouth.”

[borathae]

↳ Index [Snippet #40 - Annoying]

"When Jungkook acts like the annoying idiot you fell in love with."

Genre: married life!AU, Fluff

Warnings: Kookie being annoying and cute <33, a summer holiday, our queen OC suffers from holiday indigestion rip to her, she describes her poop to him in vivid detail, listen!! they’re married and in love and the intimacy they share makes me weak

Wordcount: 1.2k

a/n: i had this thought that "dookie" would be actually a really cute (and annoying<3) nickname. And i think that out of all my bois, ogc!koo is the best candidate for such a nickname. So here we are, enjoy this cute lil fluff piece 🧡

Your husband is where you left him. He is lounging on the sun bed under the shadow of the straw umbrella, wearing nothing more than black swimming shorts and a pair of dark sunglasses perched atop his nose. The only jewelry he wears is his wedding ring, his piercings and a small fake shark tooth pendant on a leather string, which you both got from the street vendor in front of the hotel. He is currently on his phone, moving his foot in a mindless rhythm.

You and he went on a vacation together. Very far away from home. So far in fact, that you had to take a plane to get there. And it was the best decision ever. The beaches are beautiful, the ocean is clean and has just the right temperature and the hotel is gorgeous. Food is amazing as well, but there was one problem with that. You haven’t been able to take a shit ever since you started this holiday and this was five days ago. You can barely fit any more food inside, your stomach has been hard from everything collecting in there and you have been suffering from a strong tummy ache for two days already, but no matter what you did, you just couldn’t get your body to work. Jungkook had less problems this way. This complete traitor already went to the toilet three times. Unlike you, who still hasn’t been able to go.

That is until today when the sudden urge to poop overcame you as you and Jungkook enjoyed piña coladas by the ocean. You abandoned Jungkook by the beach and ran to get back to your room.

Now, almost an hour later you are back. 

Jungkook turns his head to you when he feels your presence. He lowers his phone.

“And? What’s the status?” he asks.

You lie down on the sun bed next to him, letting out a long sigh.

“I did it.”

“Yaaay, let’s go”, Jungkook cheers quietly, throwing his fists in the air in tiny motions, “no more tummy aches for you.”

“Yeah, I guess but I can’t be happy yet.”

“Why? That bad?”

“It was a warzone. You have no idea what I’ve just been through. I have PTSD just thinking about it. I had the sweats and everything, even had to take off my clothes and I kept gripping the edge of the sink and even had to put my feet up higher. I stacked like three toilet rolls for that.”

“Damn.”

“And it smelled so bad. You have no idea, I stank up the entire room so bad that I had to leave the windows open when I left.”

“Oh no, that bad?”

“Yeah, that bad. I was constipated at first until it shot outta me like a torpedo and I thought it was over until I got a tummy cramp and then I started to explosive diarrhea everywhere.”

“Ooh damn okay that sounds traumatic.”

“It was traumatic. My ass hurts and I still feel dirty even though I took a shower. With two rounds of soap. But I had to do it in like my own toxic shit fumes and I think they’re burned into my nostril hairs because I can still smell it.”

Jungkook cracks up.

“Awww baby, you’re my little stinker now”, he teases, nudging your arm playfully, “my little stinkbug.”

“No, stop, don’t call me that”, you whine, “it’s already embarrassing enough.”

“Don’t be embarrassed, my stinkbug. It’s only natural to shit.”

“I told you not to call me that”, you get out under your breath, hitting his thigh gently, “what if someone hears you?”

Jungkook snickers, “and it’s okay for you to describe your traumatising shit to me in vivid detail?”

“Yeah, ‘cause I did it quietly. I know you, you’re just gonna call me stinker for the rest of the day and that’s embarrassing.”

Jungkook snickers, “I think it’s cute. My little stinker”, he says and leans over to smooch your cheek. 

“Shut up, you’re so annoying”, you mumble, nudging his chest. 

“Mhm and you married me, so you love it.”

You roll your eyes at him, letting out a small chuckle.

“You’re annoying”, you say fondly and rest back on the sun bed. 

“I’m happy for you though”, Jungkook says, caressing your tummy gently, “I was suffering with you. Holiday indigestions are the worst.”

“Yeah, I’m happy too. Traumatised but happy.”

He chuckles, squeezing your thigh. You laugh, patting his hand. 

“Hey, my stinker?” Jungkook asks then.

“Urgh, shut up. What?”

“Can you lotion up my back? I wanna go for a swim, but I’m scared to burn”, Jungkook asks as he already turns his back to you.

“Yeah, of course”, you say, sitting up so you can comfortably reach his back. You own one of those sunscreens which comes in a spray bottle. You spray it directly onto Jungkook’s back, earning yourself a loud yelp of shock from him.

“This is so cold. No. Don’t do that”, he whines, trying to writhe away which only makes you spray more cream onto his back. 

“It’s what you get for calling me stinker”, you say with a shiteating grin on your lips. 

“Wah, you’re so mean”, he says, making you chuckle.

You place the bottle aside and connect your hands with his back to spread the sunscreen evenly. His body is very clearly warmed up from the summer heat, his back feels hot under your palms. You are sure that a swim in the cool water will do him good. 

“Make sure to get the tattoos”, he says.

“I am”, you promise him, “don’t worry.” 

“Thanks, stinky.”

“Do. Not.”

You pinch his sides, making him squeak and writhe away.

“Don’t call me that.”

You tickle him again, forcing him to laugh and fight you off with his hands. 

“Stinky, please.”

“Don’t call me that”, you warn as laughter escapes you and your fingers squeeze his ticklish waist even harder.

“Sorry fine sorry, I yield”, he gives up,  twisting around so he is facing you, “you win, don’t tickle me”, he laughs, pushing your hands away gently. 

You grin in triumph, “good.”

Then you reach for the face sunscreen, opening it.

“Good idea”, Jungkook says, closing his eyes in anticipation. 

You spread an even layer of sunscreen on his face and neck, making sure to get his ears as well. The remnants of the sunscreen, you spread on his shoulders.

“Do you need it reapplied on your arms as well?” you ask him.

“No, I managed to get everything else. It was just the back I struggled with.”

“Okay, then you’re good to go.”

“Thanks, sweetheart”, he says and gets up, “do you wanna join me?”

“No thank you”, you let out in a breathy laugh, shaking your head, “I still need to recover.”

“Okay. See you later, my dookie”, he says and grins.

“Jungkook”, you gasp, gawking at him with widened eyes.

Jungkook laughs and turns to jog down to the water with snickers of mischief leaving him. 

“You’re annoying!” you call after him with your eyes racing over the other people to see if somebody had heard him. It seems that nobody did. You are simply yet another couple teasing each other lovingly in a sea of strangers.

[da-rulah]

“Your too sweet for me” with SOFT Secondo. Like I’m talking so sweet I have to invest in dentures

Tooth-rottingly sweet? Gotcha. Here goes...

Secondo x gn!reader

You weren't sure what you were expecting - not a lot, if you were honest - but it certainly wasn't this.

Celebrating your first anniversary, you'd thought perhaps a nice meal or flowers would be as far as Secondo would go. But walking into his chambers at the agreed upon time that evening, you were stunned to find the largest and fluffiest looking pillow fort you'd ever seen.

His armchairs had been moved around and draped with sheets to create a soft cocoon, the sofa cushions laid out and covered in pillows and blankets to turn the floor into one large bed. The whole room was lit up in a soft glow of candlelight, and one of his records was spinning on his turntable creating an atmosphere that immediately invited you in.

"Secondo?" you called out to him, but he was nowhere in sight. Suddenly, you saw his feet backing out from the fort he'd built, followed by his legs and that wonderfully perky ass of his before he stood up and smoothed out his shirt.

"Amore, is it already 7:30? Mi scusi, I was not prepared..." he stepped towards you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing a singular, lingering kiss to your lips.

"Not prepared? Look at this place, this is so cute..." You were in awe, taking it all in.

Secondo had taken one tiny little memory you'd told him about months ago and run with it. You'd told him about how your father had used to build you pillow forts for special days like birthdays, somewhere to hide away after the end of a long day of parties and activities. It was a safe space he'd created for you to unwind, knowing how easily you'd find yourself overstimulated by so much going on. This really was one of the sweetest things Secondo could have thought to do for you.

"Well, it is our anniversary, no? I wanted to do something nice," he told you, his lips twitching into an almost smile. Even now, he was stoic and stone faced. Only you could ever make him crack.

"You're too sweet for me," you smirked, booping his nose before you wrapped your arms around his neck.

"Sweet?" he seemed offended, although of course, not seriously. "I am many things, amore, but 'sweet' is not something most would use to describe me." You giggled at that.

"No, perhaps they wouldn't. But I know you better than that. Sweetest. Papa. Ever." You punctuated each of those three words with a peck to the lips.

"I am not 'sweet'," he protested, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "Take it back."

"Never."

"Take it back," he warned playfully. "Or face the wrath of my dark side."

"Ooh, that sounds exciting too..." you teased, biting your lip and standing up on your tiptoes to nuzzle your nose against his.

"Get in the fort," he demanded in a low, seductive voice, "I'll show you exactly what wrath looks like."

[vagabond-umlaut]

fairy cakes

two dumb classmates redefining mutual pining. one injured senpai people keep linking you with. zero baking experience in your being.

what could possibly go wrong?

▸ student! gojo satoru x student! gn! reader; wc: 1.6k; background nanami x haibara; lots and lots of fluff; pining; teasing; missions; injuries and recoveries; reader is in denial and acceptance (confusing, ik); (i repeat) soft tooth-rotting fluff (i promise)

▸ belongs to series we're the summer to our winter rain but you can read this as a stand-alone if you wanna!

▸ idk what's happening to me. (another fic, so soon!?!?) (i ain't upset tho.) anyways, gif, divider and characters aren't mine. please don't plagiarize, translate or repost this. enjoy reading! ❤️

"are the cupcakes readyyy?"

the decision of letting these four guys spend the afternoon at your place was a blunder. terribly, horribly, greatly - a historic blunder.

you shoot geto an exasperated look. the boy simply shrugs back, lips twitching, as he takes a water bottle from the fridge and saunters back to wherever the hell he emerged from.

beside you, meanwhile, nanami continues to mutter the ingredients under his breath - the thousandth time in the past hour - making you wonder if you can survive a jump from your fourth-storeyed flat's kitchen window or not.

maybe not, you decide, cracking three eggs open and pouring them into the bowl. and even if you do, it's not worth the risk, anyways. you might've got money to burn but you would much rather not burn it all on hospital bills, thank you.

"hey, they said two eggs, not three," your classmate's solemn voice draws you from your thoughts. glancing at the boy, then at the bowl, then back at him, you feel the corners of your lip lift in a tense grin.

"that recipe you are reading's all wrong," you state, snatching the cookbook from him with one hand and snapping it shut, "my mom always baked me and my brothers cakes in our childhood. trust me, i know. i might've never baked before but it's in my blood."

you watch nanami open his mouth, then close it, then open it again - only to close it. and the metaphorical bulb lights up in your brain.

a teasing smile now carving its way onto your lips, you return to the batter, adding, "don't get stressed, kento-kun. i'm pretty sure yu-kun will looove the cupcakes. just as much as you love him."

a sputter followed by a cough sounds next to you. "hey, that- that's not true. what're you talking about?" the blond exclaims indignantly.

the whisk dropped into the batter, a loud gasp escapes you as you twist to face him. "are you implying your love for yu-kun is fake, then? oh gosh! and here i thought you were a decent person, kento-kun!" you cry out dramatically, placing a hand over your forehead.

"hey, no, that's not it," the boy refutes your claims in an instant. you watch in glee how his otherwise-stoic features grow bashful. "my feelings for haibara-kun aren't fake. they are real. quite a lot so."

"oh, is it so?" you ask in faux-curiosity, then turn to the boy, genuinely wondering, "then why don't you confess to him? yu-kun will accept it in a heartbeat, i'm sure of that."

a couple of seconds pass before the smile falls from your face, giving way to a mighty frown, as you watch the boy next to you grow silent, desolation dimming his gaze as he returns to finding the cupcake moulds.

in your sixteen years of existence, you've always viewed love as... just that. lovely. exceedingly so.

yes, you have never experienced it yourself yet, but everyone else always described it as wonderful, leaving one happy and giddy and just splendid at the end of the day.

then why does kento-kun's face grow grave at love's very mention?

"are you scared of losing him one day, kento-kun?" you ask him quietly, the words tumbling out your mouth before you registering, while you add the other ingredients - brown sugar, cocoa powder, vanilla extract - into the bowl and start whisking them again.

a long while passes - one wherein two excited yells sound from the living room, accompanied by a dramatic whine (you know whose) - after which your question receives a reply.

except, it's your inquiry thrown back at you.

"aren't you scared of losing your loved ones?" nanami asks, just as quietly as you did. in the background, yet another dramatic cry rings through the air-conditioned air.

and your mind, as if on auto-pilot, flies back to that one night a week ago you spent in the infirmary.

the night you felt the most terrified. the most penitent. the loneliest.

the mission was worded to be an easy one, a simple in-and-out kind.

gojo and you decided to visit the ruins of a shrine in nikko, kill the special-grade curse wreaking havoc there, and finally go to the patisserie nearby, he had been singing praises for, for weeks and days at end.

that was the plan, that would have been the reality too - an awesome reality to mark the start of your much-loved summer holidays - until everything went haywire, that is.

there was no one special-grade curse, there were multitudes of them. and if that wasn't enough, to couple that woe, the walls were too, too derelict and weak to bear the brunt of either of your cursed energy blows, let alone your joint attacks.

the tragedy, however, lay not in either of the facts.

the tragedy lay in gojo's and your ignorance of both of them.

before either of you could realize what's wrong, whilst you two were relaxing for a beat, having exorcised all the curses, bodies tired and bruised, the ages-old shrine came caving in on you - the roof, the walls, the everything.

and gojo, being gojo - the absolute self-sacrificing idiot you never knew he could be - chose to turn his infinity off in favour of pulling you under his tall frame, bearing the weight of the crash all upon his back.

the entire trip back to school and everything that happened after is all a blurry mess in your brain now.

save for the metallic stench of blood, the leaden weight of guilt, the sympathetic soft voices and the ice-cold hand you kept rubbing circles on and on, and pressing kisses to, throughout the night till the morning next - when a familiar pair of clear blue eyes opened, blinking blearily, and crinkled in a grin at your sight, raspy voice asking if you would mind visiting the shop a couple of days later.

your cheeks feel awfully wet as you recount those details - and you huff a watery chuckle.

"i too am scared, i guess," you admit in a hushed tone, pouring the batter into the moulds - eight, not twelve, you remind yourself, 'cause shoko went to visit family and geto's going on that date you're forcing him to go. a beat passes in utter silence before you feel a pair of arms pull you gently into a side-embrace.

"i didn't intend to make you cry, sorry," nanami says in a kind voice. you immediately open your mouth, wanting to say it's not his fault; the boy shushes you, continuing, just as gently, "why don't you take a small break, hm? only the frosting's left, right? i'll call haibara. both of us can handle it from here."

betraying your brimming eyes, you throw him an impish grin. "are you sure this wasn't some ploy to get some alone-time with your boyfie?"

"no, it wasn't," your classmate says, rolling his eyes in annoyance, though the smile on his lips tell you otherwise. accepting the napkin from him, you let him maneuver you towards the living room, an arm slung around your shoulders, when he speaks up again, "geto senpai will be leaving for his date in another couple of minutes. he's already ready."

your brows furrow a tad as you glance at him from the corner of your eyes. nanami hates stating the obvious... then why is he now?

"of course, i know that. i was the one who set him up on that date, remember?" you say, perplexed, "so?"

"so..." the blond drawls with a rare wide grin. did the sun rise in the west today or something of the sort?

"you should've realized by now, it was a ploy to get you some alone-time with your boyfie."

an indignant gasp escaping, you twist in his grasp, ready to deny his mind-boggling claims - then stop when you catch gojo grin at you, waving not unlike a maniac, from where he is slouched on the couch.

ignoring the tight feeling in your chest (must have been a heartburn from that stale pizza), you grin back at your shades-wearing senpai, waving just as wildly.

nanami's an idiot - you decide as you sit down carefully next to the white-haired boy - he's still healing, after all - and kiss his bandaged forehead. your two classmates, meanwhile, keep rambling, like the pining fools they've been of late.

ignoring them, you focus on your ruminations instead - yeah, you're certainly not in love with your gojo senpai. it's just that-

"hey, were you crying?" musings broken in half by a gentle thumb on the apple of your cheeks, you peer up at the boy, only to find him frowning, concern clear-as-day behind his goggles.

biting your lower lip to keep it from wobbling, you shake your head 'no' and snuggle into his side, relishing in the warmth he offers, the balmy discomfort of 39°C be damned.

asking you no more questions, gojo simply pulls you even closer into himself; you close your eyes to restrain your tears.

tears of joy.

tears of relief.

tears of something new, something wonderful, you can't name yet, but have a hunch, can soon.

encased in your dear (not beloved, just dear) senpai's comforting touch, your lost train of thought revisits you, waiting to be finished.

a warm smile appears on your lips.

it's just that you'll do anything in this world - without an ounce of reluctance - if it means you always get to see that goofy, careless, adorable, genuine grin on his face, you've grown to cherish so much.

▸ masterlist

[akwolfgrl]

The bet part 2

Zoro glared at the witches retreating back. He was actually considering the bet. He could beat the stupid pervert next to him. The curly brow idiot wouldn't last the rest of the day. He'd be taking the witch up on the offer of drinking till he passed out.

“Looks like I got this,” Zoro smirked at the annoying blond. “Next island, I'm drinking the bar dry,” He watched as Sanji lit his cigarette, blowing the smoke in his face.

“Well I'm getting myself a kiss on the check. What better motivation is thire?” Sanji gave him a wicked grin. “I think I'll make something that will pair very well with this wonderful bottle of sake I picked up on the last island,”

“Cheater!”

“Tough shit Marimo. Oi Usopp! How's fish sound for dinner tonight?” Sanji called out as he walked away, whistling a trail of smoke following in his wake.

Fucking dam it, this might be harder then he thought, if anyone could fish up somthing good it would be Usopp, and for as much he gripped, Sanji was a fantastic cook. He also knew that Nami had gone with him alcohol shopping on the last island.

Zoro spent the next while napping by the mast, ignoring the need to drink. Now that he can't drink, he really wanted one. The sea was calm and the wind still, the sun was at its highest point. Lunch would be soon. The chears of Luffy, Usopp, and Chopper had a cracking up an eye. From the sounds of it, they got a good haul.

“Sanji!! We got loads of goodies!” The boys all called out. “Come see! Come see!”

There were a few good-sized fish and a net full of shells and crabs. The cook should be happy, and Zoro enjoyed seafood. He could live off rice and fish, of course sake, too. Zoro watched from his spot as Sanji strolled out of the kitchen, his ridiculous pink apron on a smudge of cream on his check. Zoro licked his lips.

“Wow good job. I'm actually impressed,” Sanji placed his hands on each head one at a time. “We'll have a nice seafood feast for dinner, a nice miso black cod, some raw marinated crab, hmm what else. Lemon garlic scallops, or scallop crudo with minka and tarragon,”

“Lemon garlic!” Usopp cried. “Please it sounds so good,” Zoro watched as Sanji nodded, his stomach growling as Sanji described dinner. Luffy was already literally drooling, unlike the rest of them.

“What's for dessert?” Chopper asked. The little reindeer had a sweet tooth, Zoro would always take dessert, and after having a bite, he would slide it over for him to have.

“Mini cheesecakes, one for everyone,”

“Ooo! Can I have chocolate, please?” Chopper asked, giving Sanji big pleading eyes. Those eyes were Zoro's greatest weakness.

“I want blackberry!” Usopp threw his recest in.

“Meat!” Luffy cried.

“You guys get what I make and enjoy it!” Sanji yelled, grabbing the catch as the others pouted.

Zoro huffed and rolled his eyes, and the dam cook was so busy catering to the women on board that he neglected the rest of the crew. Zoro glared at the blonde's retreating back.

[danosrosegarden]

💨💨💨💨🍃

…….🚶

..howdy partner..I hear you’re doing requests here..

I say that’s a mighty fine thing to do, I have a request for ye..if ya think ya can handle it partner..(I know you can I’m just playing up the cowboy thing)

How’s a bout..Fem!Reader goes to see Edward Nashton in Arkham, nothing smutty no no, we want pure sugar here cowpoke..something to make the tooth ache with how sweet it is partner.

Reader reassures Edward and they can have a tender moment of your choosing..

Alright..let’s get riding off. It was good to see ya partner. See ya

🌅

🐎

when the sun hits - edward nashton x gn!reader ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

{contains: sad fluff and mild mentions of violence.}

Arkham was a dark, empty night, void of stars, barren of any sliver of moon. It was as if you could feel the grime ground into the floor as you were led down the hallway. The frosty chill of the air in the asylum sunk deep into your marrow. It was impossibly bleak, hopelessly desolate. And you hated to imagine your Eddie in a place like this.

You couldn't help but feel a sheen of disapproval cast over the glaring eyes of the guards leading you to his cell. How could you still love a monster like him? To them, he was a rabid dog, fangs still dripping with the blood of the innocent, eyes still bloodshot with streaks of burning-hot frenzy. He was a killer. He was the man who giggled while he splintered bones, grinned gleefully as he cracked skulls. That's all they saw.

Fuck what they thought. You knew better.

Your stomach was in a billion impossibly twisted knots as the metal barricade groaned as it lifted.

And there he was. How to describe the scene.

The first thing you noticed were his eyes. Though bags pulled at the skin underneath them in a dull, weary violet, there was something deep in the pitch black pupils that glimmered like glitter underneath the whirring lights when he saw you.

Edward placed his hands on the glass, scoffing out a wonder-struck laugh.

"Hi, angel," a quivering voice spoke.

When Edward was The Riddler, he was no longer a cold, frightened child who kept his head down and spoke to nobody. He was strong. He was brave. You detected something in his voice that sounded like him before he put the mask on, something quiet and stamped-out and fearful. You felt the woosh of your heart in your ears, and your jaw ached and popped with anxiety.

"Hi, Eddie."

You stood facing each other, wading around aimlessly in a thick goo of silence. What to say. What even was there to say?

He spoke first.

"I'm so sorry."

You felt the stitches of your heart begin to rip apart. "Sorry for what?"

"For...for putting you through all this. For leaving you." His lip quivered. "I'm so, so sorry."

You cursed your body for the tears you felt welling up and burning in the corner of your eyes.

"I hate being without you." The words that poured from your lips felt mechanical, like you were a wind-up toy, marching without thinking. It came out rushed. Pathetic and whimper-laced. "I hate it so much, Eddie."

He shook his head rapidly, his breath fogging up the glass. "I'll find a way. We don't have to be apart."

A filmstrip of memories rolled in your mind of all the evenings he'd spent at your apartment. The tender mornings you'd wake up with your bodies entangled in one another. The laughing until tears were rolling down your cheeks. Your heart still struggled with his actions, but there was no denying how badly you ached for his presence.

It hurt to go to bed alone. The sheets felt stiff and bitterly cold, the blanket laying on top of you like the shell of the memory of his warmth.

"I don't care what I have to do. I'll write. I'll call. You can come visit," he said rapidly. "I can't be without you. I can't make it alone."

The future seemed gray and bleak from where you were standing. But maybe you could spot the sun peaking through the clouds. Maybe it might take effort, but it was as if you could feel the sparkling sunrays warming your skin as you peered into his eyes. Perhaps your apartment would feel less riddled with ghosts if you could still talk to him through letters and phone calls. Maybe his touch wouldn't feel a million miles away if you could still visit.

"I'm going to do whatever it takes," he swore with a low whisper.

You held you hand up to where his rested on the glass.

"You promise?"

[larabiatasstuff]

Part one here 🖤

Part four🖤

I couldn't imagine treating my Y/N that way. We always talked about everything we did no matter what it was. But it seems that this Y/N didn't mind the way he treated her. "Okay it seems the storm is over. We should get in the truck and look for a clue or a sign of what happened, I can't just sit here and wait you know?" "Yeah... yeah you're right. Okay let's go." she said climbing on the passenger side of the truck and I felt my heart ache a little. The person next to me looked like the woman I loved but she was the complete opposite. I took a deep breath and started the truck. I didn't really know what we were looking for but I was hoping we would find something.

Y/N POV

It was a little over a week now and I was still on the road with the biggest asshole alive. I missed my Sweet Tooth so bad and I prayed to every God that I would be reunited with him again. This, this was a nightmare. If I ever thought living in a post apocalypse was bad this was complete madness. There was not a single day of rest or safety. We always had to look over our shoulder because basically everyone in this fucking place tried to kill us. After another few days we sat in the truck after a long drive. "it's not what you're used to huh?" the other Sweet Tooth asked. "Not at all, I mean my world is p fucked up but this... this is pure madness." he let out a deep chuckle "Yeah I think that describes it very much it's just... Wait a second do you see that?" I looked in the direction he pointed. There was a strange light on the horizon. "Do you think...". " Probably we should check that out." with that he started the truck and drove towards the light. The closer we got we could tell it came from some kind of power plant. "Look at the sky. There's a storm coming if we're lucky we can bring your ass home and I get my Y/N back she's much more fun to have around like you." "Awww believe I'd rather jump from the highest building than spending the rest of my life with you" "Yeah yeah whatever" he said still focused on the road. I looked out of the window. It started raining and the sound of thunder was heard in the distance. "We need to get closer just a little bit.". "I'm doing what I can over here." the sound of thunder got louder and louder and a few lightnings lit up the sky. "Okay. This is exactly how it was when we first came to your reality. I can't get closer we just... We just have to wait.". "Okay, okay... God please. I just want to go home." I said more to myself and in just that moment a loud thunder cracked a bright lightning was seen and before I knew what happened I was back at the abandoned mall where Sweet Tooth and I met the other Y/N and her Sweet Tooth." Princess? God princess is that really you?" "I turned around and saw Sweet Tooth, my Sweet Tooth standing in front of me. I couldn't hold back and just jumped into his arms, tears of joy running down my face." Oh princess I... I'm so happy to have you back. Are you okay? Are you hurt? Did he hurt you? I swear if he hurt you..." "No, no I'm good. I'm amazing now that I'm back by your side. Seriously Sweet Tooth it was a nightmare. It was..." "Shhh... It's okay it's okay princess. You're back in my arms that's all that matters." "Yes, yes that's all that matters. I love you so much.". "I love you too princess. More than anything else in the world."

[angelofthepage]

Ink Demon - Evolution shown in Reverse? (Bendy DCTL Speculation and Character Design Theory)

Today we got a surprise drop of the cover for the Dreams Come to Life Graphic Novel, and there’s one thing all of us are thinking about: why is the BATDR ink demon design on the cover? When Dreams Come to Life originally came out, this design either didn’t exist period or wasn’t public yet, and its inclusion here instead of the BATIM ink demon leaves me with a lot of questions about the timeline of this universe and how the ink demon functions. So today I’m gonna crack open DCTL and see if I can puzzle this one out. Join me, won’t you? 

First, let’s look at what the book actually says in describing the monster’s appearance. Let’s jump over to the part where Buddy digs through Sammy’s sheet music and finds his doodles. This is how Buddy describes a drawing that, we presume, is the ink demon. 

DCTL Page 162, Physical Copy

“The ink glistened like the ink on the cover, but it was similarly dry. That’s not what chilled me to the bone though. Taking up the full right-hand page was what I could only describe as a drawing of a deformed Bendy. But it had very little in common with the cute cartoon character. Its limbs were long, almost praying mantis-like, with hands that had claws on them, not cute white gloves. Worse still was his face, half obscured with-what was it? Was it blood? The drawing was in black and white; it was hard to tell what everything was. All I could see was how much longer his devil’s horns now were, how his smile was filled with sharp teeth. His eyes completely hidden behind a dripping black ooze.” 

On page 204, while Buddy and Dot are exploring in the dark with a flashlight, they turn the flashlight above them and see this. “Something wet. Black. Dripping. A figure. With something sharp that glinted in the light. Like teeth.

And then the flashlight died in the shadows.”

Pages 274 and 275, we get this description. 

“Standing there was the creature from Sammy’s notebook. It wasn’t just some made-up doodle, it was real. And it was…

Bendy.

At least, some strange version of the cartoon character. The head was the most like him. Shaped in the same way, round with two points for horns. He had that same smile too. Big and white, with lines separating each tooth, only these teeth were real. They glistened with saliva. The rest? Well, the rest of his face was covered in ink, ink dripping from his head over where his eyes should be. Did that mean he was blind? I didn’t think there needed to be logic with such a creature. 

His body was long and lean, and he too was dripping ink. No, not just lean, but almost like a dripping skeleton. I could see the indentation beneath his rib cage. But he was still partly cartoon character, which was probably the most terrifying part about him.He still had that white bow tie and one white glove like the ones all the characters had. 

He stood there. A growl deep inside him like a revving engine.” 

And then skipping ahead a bit, after ripping Dave’s arm off, he transforms-

“The beast now seemed to be growing in size. His arms and legs lengthening, his head spreading, his teeth getting sharper.” 

I went back to page 147, the first encounter Buddy has with the monster in the infirmary, but it doesn’t give us any physical description of the monster. It talks about shadows on the walls and the lights dimming that sound like the ink demon’s aura, and the handprint he gets on the back of his shirt doesn’t have a description other than being black. There is an interesting thing with there being a yellow coloring to the room/light for the infirmary on page 143 that I need to look back at later, but that’s not gonna help me with this matter (that’s for another theory another day). 

When looking at these descriptions of the monster, it sounds like most of them line up with what we knew about the BATIM ink demon in his regular and beast form, save for one. Sammy’s notebook sketch is described with limbs that are long and “praying mantis like”, and Buddy also takes note that the creature has claws. Now, the BATIM ink demon does not have claws, he has one human-ish hand and one gloved cartoon hand, and while he does have some length to him, I’d argue this description fits better with our BATDR ink demon. I mean if you look at the way his limbs bend, they are kind of mantis-like. Granted, I could say similar things about Beast Bendy in that regard, but he’s not quite so gangly. The sharp teeth throw me off, as again, that’s a Beast Bendy trait, BATDR ink demon has very flat teeth by comparison, deadly, but not sharp.

I think you could absolutely make the argument that Sammy’s drawing from when he was succumbing to the ink could be of the BATDR ink demon, though it feels a bit flimsy, I don’t have anything super concrete here. But then again, this is Buddy’s interpretation of Sammy’s art, which isn’t 100% reliable given, Buddy is not a reliable narrator for a lot of the book. You could easily brush off inconsistencies as Buddy having a warped memory from how long he’s been trapped as a Boris. I’m not sure how I feel about that, I suppose it’s a strength and a weakness of these books, depending on how you look at it.

Having the BATDR ink demon on the cover art could easily mean some retconning, but like, I don’t think that’s what’s happening here. I think the lore has changed as to how the ink demon works, and I don’t think they had everything mapped out from the beginning. But I also feel like you can work the BATDR ink demon design into an earlier point in the timeline given what one of our big twists is in BATDR.

We hear from Wilson and the Keepers that they’ve been running experiments to trap the ink demon in a smaller, more vulnerable form. And this plotpoint has always bothered me since, how the hell did Wilson figure it out before Joey did? We know that Wilson was digging through Joey’s old stuff thanks to the BATDS teaser of his voice and his other audiologs, but what did Joey have that could have clued him in that this was a possibility? Records of Gent experiments perhaps? How can a man who doesn’t truly understand how the ink works build off of Joey and Gent’s work to get their desired result? Before Wilson was in the picture, the story felt like Joey had a monster locked up and then on the loose after the ink demon didn’t turn out to be his perfect Bendy. Given the room Buddy finds the ink demon in is filled with medical tools, I’ve often thought maybe they were using him for experiments, and it begs the question, what were those experiments? Were they trying to make him into a perfect Bendy? Were they testing the limits of the ink? It feels like it could be those things.

Here’s what I suspect is going on: ink demon didn’t come out as a perfect Bendy, so they’re trying to make him fit that mold in post. Thing is, Joey and Gent? They’re not treating him very well, and he’s giving them trouble, so they’re running other experiments in the background and using data from what they learned from him before applying that knowledge to him. Hence why we get Buddy Boris, Susie as Twisted Alice, etc, but no perfect Bendy yet. My thought process is, if the ink demon came out of the machine looking like Beast Bendy or his BATDR incarnation, then the ink demon we see in BATIM could be what happens after some experimenting. The BATIM ink demon is closer to how Bendy looks than any other version of the monster, it makes sense for him to be an in-between form in the evolution of this monster, we could’ve just been wrong about the order it goes in. 

The thing is, this means Joey, Tom, and Gent made significant progress in a short amount of time, if we got from the big scary sharp toothed monster to the one with a skeleton shape and one good glove over the course of one book. Sammy drinking the ink and falling under its influence seems to be contained over the course of this book.

Page 259 

“”What happened to me? You know what happened to me! You were there! You saw it”...”That day the ink found me. It wanted me. He wanted me. At first I was scared. At first I could feel it inside, the drops I’d swallowed by accident. By luck. I could feel them moving around inside me. I shouldn’t have been scared. I was foolish.””

This seems to be in reference to the pipes bursting in the supply closet and dowsing Sammy with ink, which was the start of his cravings. Buddy was there as a direct witness to this event. If Sammy drew this monster while under the influence of the ink, he’s changed forms within this book. I know the paragraph describing the monster Buddy actually saw starts off with a note about being like the drawing, but when you compare the descriptions, the monsters are different, especially with the way they describe teeth. It could easily be that the reason Buddy calls this out as the monster from Sammy’s drawing is because he sees it transform a little while later, even though it’s not an exact match in the moment of this encounter. 

So the ink demon’s form changing is possibly a recent development for him and his abilities within this book, and the fact that he goes back to being a more threatening monster not too far into the scene where Buddy and Dot have a boss fight with him makes me think that maybe the BATIM ink demon form didn’t stick as well as it could have at first. Like they could achieve it, but it took a long time to make him stay that way. It would also add to why he’s so hostile and why our little Bendy is scared of the Gent buildings. It may not just be trauma over what Wilson and the Keepers did, it may be tied to what happened to him with Joey, Tom, and Gent too.

Whatever the case may be, I have a lot of questions and curiosities about the upcoming graphic novel, and I look forward to seeing what comes next. Remember, whatever they decide to do, whatever happens, you’re still allowed to have your headcanons and noncanon things you play with. The world of Bendy getting expanded does not mean you’re not allowed to have fun with old or new ideas, nor does it give you clearance to be nasty to other fans if they choose to incorporate or ignore this entry when building their fan works. Normally I don’t feel the need to say that, most of us are pretty chill here in the fandom, but some recent interactions have made me feel like this is worth reiterating. Be kind to each other, we’re all fandom nerds bonding over a love of a fictional realm of demons and monsters, that’s really what matters most here. 

Here’s sending you all the good vibes! Tell me what you’d think, I’d love to hear your thoughts.

[essayofthoughts]

For the DVD commentary ask game; hey Essay what the *fuck*

[Aka: Tiefling AU recounting of the de Rolos' deaths]

--

(He sees: his father, bruised and bloodied, clothes torn to rags, fingers broken and twisted in unnatural ways, sees him wheezing and wheezing and going still.)

(He sees: his mother, a crossbow quarrel in her shoulder, no armour to protect her, her glasses smashed, all her ferocious protectiveness turned useless by restraints as they forced her to watch-)

(He sees: Julius, choked, held by the throat by the man he’d just run through, Sylas Briarwood, smiling, sneering, tossing his brother down into the cells-

(He sees: Vesper, beloved older sister, spellbook torn from her hands as she tried to get enough space to cast something, anything, fleeing to the highest tower and only finding freedom by being thrown from it.)

(He sees: Oliver, Whitney, Ludwig, Oliver’s ribs cracking and cracked, Whitney’s fingernails torn ragged, torn out, Ludwig’s teeth ripped free to leave bleeding gums.) (He sees Cassandra, the last one left, at his cell, picking the lock, pulling him free.)

So, I'll admit that some of this is stuff I tend to hold to across fics - traits of Percy's siblings and ways that Ripley hurt them, but it's also that...

Trauma is messy and it messes with your memory. I highly doubt Percy remembers the whole of what was done to him and his family - too painful, too awful, too viscerally horrible - but he, like anyone, can remember fragments of it. Bits and pieces and not the whole and it's both better (less painful) and worse (surely he owes it to them to remember the whole of it?). It also means I can narrate it like this - like a fragmented flashback, because most flashbacks aren't solely visual and can be incoherent. They are often emotional or aural or based on a smell or a fleeting sound or wrong touch, and I wanted to invoke that broken incoherency in how Percy recalls things.

It also makes it more impactful for a reader. I can't write Ripley's detached torture of the de Rolos, not like @officialtrashbin can (and has for their Vampire Percy fic The Suffering of Night; it's great, go read it if you haven't), and if I just described every piece of harm she wrought on them then that'd just become gorn and no one wants gorn. Further, by describing all of it, it becomes both overwhelming (gorn) but also disallows any space for the reader's own imagination, which can be even more effective at building horror, and by limiting it to small things with some basis in things people might have familiarity with, it brings it viscerally home to the reader. I talk about Whitney's fingernails torn ragged and then torn out - we've all had a hangnail! Some people have had nails torn off in accidents. I say "Ludwig's teeth ripped free to leave bleeding gums" and anyone who's had to have a tooth removed knows what that yawning gap can look like, and everyone knows what it's like at the dentists, having to hold your mouth open - there's little parts of it that most people will have some familiarity with and which give them a basis to imagine it from: it becomes verisimilitudinous that way. I hope.

A few of these things are also headcanons I've built out more recently or ones I chose specifically to hurt you, Blorb. Johanna having glasses I decided because I think if Percy has more tangible habits and traits from his father, I'd like him to have his bad eyesight from his mother, just to balance it. I'd decided Julius was protective of his siblings long ago as the eldest; the idea of him trying to fight back but being unable because Sylas Briarwood came naturally from that. Vesper however... Vesper was specifically because this AU is for you.

I know you remember and hold to the idea of Vesper being thrown from a tower, and I've had a headcanon of her dabbling in spells for a while; it felt fitting to combine those for a smidge of extra pain here, Vesper trying to get enough space to safely cast something, anything, and being given only a twisted version of freedom, thrown from a tower, unable to cast Featherfall or Fly.

That one was specifically put there for you.

Send me ~500 words from a fanfic I've written and I'll give DVD Commentary-esque explanation of why I wrote it like that

[aria-ashryver]

day 1 without reading an aria chapter. my hearing has gone out in my left nostril and i cant see out my front tooth. im going crazy. oh my god. is this what crack feels like 😫🙏🏼

lmaoooo i think you just described chemo ngl

I'm so happy you are enjoying the fic lovely!

here's a few little moments while we wait on the next chapter: these have been sitting in my doc of random ID notes and drabbles (most of which didn't make it in to Starlight) (the domestic Gas food argument might though haha, well see!)

Sending you sunshine! 🌻

[pre-poly, Cas is still pretending he's not in love with Gabriel. Context: Gabe has just changed his clothing]

The breath rushed out of him in a shocked laugh.

‘You’re so fucking pretty.’

Gabriel froze, his eyes wide. ‘Thank… you?’

Wait. No. An insult. He’d meant it as an insult! But the way the words had fallen so softly from his lips just now had sounded— oh for fuck’s sake, New Kid was already laughing at his slip.

‘Oh my god, Cas, just propose already.’

‘NO, that’s not what I—' Cas's eyes grew wide in panic. ‘I meant he’s a sappy little pretty boy who wouldn’t know style if it punched him in the face.’ The back of his neck grew uncomfortably hot.

Luca waggled his eyebrows. ‘Uh huh, sure.’

‘Remind me why I haven’t eaten you yet?’

‘Because I’m adorable.’

Cas growled, snapping his teeth at Luca.

‘Hey,’ Gabriel said. ‘No hunting inside the town borders.’

[Cut from CH28, right before the "ily" moment, when Luca and Cas were talking about Cas drinking Luca's blood]

‘Yeah? What if I snap from the exhaustion?’ Cas snapped his teeth, a playful snarl on his face. ‘Maybe I’ll hunt you down like some big scary monster man.’

Cas grabbed Luca’s wrists and hauled them close, his eyes flashing silver. He snarled, low and menacing, nipping at Luca’s jaw in a way that made them yelp.

‘Please, no, help,’ Luca said, their voice as monotone as Cas had ever heard it. ‘Somebody save me.’

‘Too late, I’m in bloodlust,’ Cas said, dragging his lips along the inside of Luca’s wrist. ‘You’re nothing but food to me now.’

Luca gasped dramatically, grabbing hold of Cas’s shirt and trying desperately to keep a straight face.

‘Cas! No, snap out of it! This isn’t you!’ The heat of the moment died as Cas and Luca both spluttered with laughter.

‘Look at me! Look into my eyes, it’s me! It’s Luca!’

‘Oh my god, you are so annoying!’ Cas flopped back against the pillows, his shoulders shaking with laughter. ‘Shut the fuck up.’

He batted Luca’s hand out of the way, playfighting with them as they tried to grab his face, still mock-pleading.

‘You need to fight it for me, Cas!’

‘Fight you in a minute, you dork.’

[Just domestic!Gas 💕]

‘Why did you throw out my tteokbokki?’

‘Because it had been in the fridge for a week.’

‘It was still good!’

‘It really, really wasn’t, darling.’ Gabriel pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘It was food poisoning in a Tupperware container at this point.’

‘Ch’yeah, for a chump human maybe,’ Cas said. ‘I could have eaten it.’

Gabriel shot him a deadpan stare. ‘Oh sure, why stop there! Why not go out and eat roadkill directly off the street, at that point?’

Cas pouted. ‘Maybe I will.’

[starboyshoyo]

hiii! it says that there’s still a spot left, so i hope that i’m able to rq a twst matchup! feel free to ignore this if not!!

—

name: lauren

personality: i’m an infp! i’d describe myself as creative, introverted, empathetic, observant, gentle, kind, cautious, shy, intelligent, and a daydreamer.

hobbies: i love drawing, listening to music, baking, and reading 🔥

likes: music, literally anything involving cats, visual kei, horror movies, splatoon, kpop, and true crime

dislikes: bugs (ESPECIALLY roaches omfg gross), super hot weather, noisy and crowded/busy areas

song: stacking chairs - middle kids!!! i love the vibes, sound, and the lyrics really resonate with me too

qualities in a partner: honest, supportive, funny, sweet, kindhearted, and loyal. someone who is able to accept my flaws and love me for who i am and vice versa 👍👍

what i expect: i want it to last! if i date, i’d want it to be someone who would be willing to spend their future with me and who would take it seriously :)

any preferences: deuce is my favourite! dorms i like best are heartslabyul and scarabia.

thank you so much, and congrats on 500 followers!!! you’re an amazing writer and i wish you and your blog only the best for the future! 💕

A/N: so sorry for the late reply!

@glasscat17 I match you with...

Jamil Viper!

Jamil might seem like quite the distant one at first. He’s good at keeping himself calm and putting up a facade, but with you he can relax. He loves your quiet empathy, because few other people think about his well-being, and not just Kalim's.

Baking dates would be common with Jamil. He’s an expert at making sweet pastries since Kalim has a bit of a sweet tooth. Now though, he sets aside his best works for you, hiding them under a napkin off to the side of the kitchen. If Kalim asks him why there are fewer pastries than usual, he'll just shrug :)

He’s not always the most humorous person. He can’t crack jokes like his fellow students can and he’s certainly not making a fool of himself. But his deadpan reactions to things might sometimes get a laugh out of you anyways!

You guys both hate bugs. If you move in together, good luck deciding who's going to be the one to kill the spiders. Jamil loves you to death and would do anything for you, but spiders? Nope, you’re on your own. He'll hand you a rolled-up newspaper and then hide behind you.

Other Possibilities: Trey Clover, Ruggie Bucchi, Silver

[tri-poke]

Despite Zach not really knowing how to really describe what he wants Cookie to do, she seems to cotton on. She pulls and does far more than show off exceptional strength, focusing in on the line of fracture so she forces him down along just the right angle.

And Demon-Tooth does Cookie one better, despite not possibly being able to know what's going on. As soon as Zach is seated and wrapping the rope around the horn, it's like he's orienting her dead on to the crack and she leans into it, following that direction of Open until she's dead on down the line. And it's not just Zach holding the tornado any more.

Demon-Tooth rears and he can feel the tornado flex as if now it has no choice but to pay attention. She hisses and Zach can't hear it as anything but joyous, like she's looking forward to the fight.

But with her strength, Zach is able to actually relax a little into his hold and feel what is going on instead of just struggling to hold onto to the whirlwind.

The opening has sensory information and the more he pays attention, the clearer if more confusing it becomes. He could probably draw it if he had to... or help Cookie spice up a meal to make it taste the same. He suspects he'll be listening for the thin, slick sound of it for the rest of his life. Even the smell, he expects he could guide a perfumery into making with enough time and effort. He starts to think about what it might feel like in his muscles as choreographed movement, a dance, just not like one he has yet seen in his life.

As it slips toward being identifiable and knowable as some perverse manner of civic population control, Cookie flicks his ear to bring him back to his own awareness. "This, I think, is like taking some poisons. The world is distracting, yes? Be here. Be now. Do not think too much about how strange things are. Think only of what it is you want to do. You have a mission. The mission is what matters. You will survive or you will die. The poison will make reality spin. But the mission is the center. You tell me what you want to do and I will keep you alive to finish the mission, even if your skin freezes while the world burns and the stars fall. What do you want to do?"

For all the weirdness and power of the fissure, Zach can feel that what is possible to do with it is fairly limited.

He can close it, effectively destroying Tariq's guidance.

He can open it wider to allow for more options... and yes, in that direction he sees that he can change the contours of the opening so that it will lead in a different direction but Zach can now feel that is very much an act of Opening, like a door. The light will be able to branch in a different direction because he will be Opening the door to show someplace else rather than here.

He can pull or push on the fissure, or at least Demon-Tooth can do it with his guidance. It won't make the crack lead somewhere else but it can speed Tariq up or slow him down. If Tariq never noticed, Zach isn't sure they couldn't just hold him in place indefinetly as he simply pulled the lightning strike back to hold its place. Or he could jam it forward so Tariq was in the middle of the Matriarch's children before he could take stock of the situation.

And there's something that feels something like a lock, just not like any lock that Zach has ever encountered. There seem to be nearly infinite degrees of lockedness and unlockedness. It is currently neither way all the way, if anything it's pretty close to locked, so the door can only OPEN so wide and allow things to change only so much. Zach thinks there might be a way to lock it to stick the land so it is... frozen for lack of a better word, that he could stick Tariq and the Matriarch and everything around them for miles in time as effectively as if he had turned all of it to stone at once. Not dead. But not alive. Not gone. But very much not able to act. Just locked in place. Assuming that Tariq didn't know a way to act while frozen in time. Or the reverse. He could simply unlock it and the door swing like it is barely there, unleashing chaos. But he's pretty sure Tariq would have a pretty good idea how to deal with that given everything so far.

He's not sure there isn't more that could be done but that's all he can feel. However Arthur Eld made the storm change course without doing anything else... Zach expects he would need more than instinct to figure out.

[peppermintquartz]

The steaks are excellent, given that it's been several months since he's had red meat. Birds are easy enough to trap and when he was still under the thumb of Agent Stone, he had access to decent rations.

"So what did he do?" Sweet Tooth asks.

Mustafa cracks a humorless smile. "Killed my best friend."

It's a simple way to say what Agent Stone did to Cedric. Mustafa is afraid that if he describes what that monster did, he will throw up. And the meal is too good to waste.

Sweet Tooth snorts. "I don't see what's the problem with that." He points to the skeleton in the glass case. "That guy was probably someone's best friend too."

"Did you make his best friend watch him die?" Mustafa didn't mean to snap, but he catches himself before he really tests his host's temper. "Plus, I bet this guy deserved it. Cedric didn't."

"Yeah this guy totally did deserve it," says Sweet Tooth. "He was sneaking around. And when I invited him to critique the show, he gave me a fake review. I don't like liars."

There's a growl in the last word that sends little tingles up Mustafa's spine. He drinks - clean water, what an amazing thing, he and Ced should have tried to take over a hotel years ago - and says, "Alright, walk through your current material with me, and then I'll share my story with you. Maybe there's something that can be meshed together."

Sweet Tooth brightens, his shoulders straightening. "I'll do one better - I'll show you!"

The show is, unfortunately, horrible.

Mustafa can't find anything worthy of being praised outside of the sincerity Sweet Tooth imbues in the one-man show. The lines are recycled from the advertising that the casinos used to play nonstop, the costuming is limited and unimaginative, and the set design is uninspired.

"How was it?" Sweet Tooth asks at the end. He's practically vibrating with eagerness.

Fuck it, I'm a dead man anyway. Mustafa shrugs and says, "It's not good, man. Everything is so... expected. There's no surprise to any of it. But I gotta say, I admire you giving your 100% to the material. That bit didn't suck."

Sweet Tooth slams both fists onto Mustafa's table and his eyes bears down on the young man. Mustafa draws back slightly, but he remains relaxed and open. Dying by Sweet Tooth's hand is beginning to sound like the best option he'll have, so he's not going to fight it.

The clown huffs, and then takes a seat opposite Mustafa. "You're a good critic. That's exactly how I'm starting to feel. But a performer can't be too choosy, y'know?"

"Well, you're also the producer now, aren't you?"

"That's... That's kinda true."

"And you can tweak the writing." Mustafa raises his glass. "If you have something more, I dunno, realistic, true to life, then it will be a damn good show. That's what I think anyway. That material earlier is so sanitized and dated. You need to reflect the times."

Sweet Tooth's head tilts, like he's pondering the suggestion. "I've not been out of Vegas since I got here," he says thoughtfully.

Mustafa grins. "We could go on a road trip. Fun experiences, maybe find some inspiration out there." He finishes his water and burps. "Scuse me. But yeah, can't act about life if you haven't lived it, right?"

The clown contemplates for another long moment, during which Mustafa contemplates finding a cozy spot to curl up in for a good night of sleep since he escaped the compound.

"I'm glad I didn't kill you," says Sweet Tooth at last. "You have good ideas. We're going on a road trip, you and me. I'll do most of the driving and you can take notes."

Mustafa gives a thumbs up. "I'm in. But after a good sleep tonight. I've not slept properly for over six weeks." In a quieter voice he adds, "I may have gone a bit mad, tell you the truth. You're a clown who swung a machete at my neck, but I feel safe for the first time since... Well. Since." He gestures to the disrepair around him. "Anyway. If you plan to kill me, please just kill me in my sleep. I'm too fucking tired to fight for my life now."

He's startled when Sweet Tooth takes his hand gently. "No one has ever said they feel safe with me," says Sweet Tooth. There's a note of wonder in his words. "Nah, I ain't gonna kill you now. We'll sleep, and when we wake up..."

"Road trip," Mustafa says with a smile.

"Road trip!" Sweet Tooth cheers.

Twisted Metal (TV series) AU, pro wrestler kayfabe personas

Violence, fluff, Joestafa (except it's also Sweet Tooth)

Look, it's me. If there's Joe, imma write Joestafa one way or another.

Title to be decided. Tentatively "Under the Mask".

*

Mustafa stops only when he hears the change in sound from the crunch of bone to the sticky-wet slap of flesh. Then he steps back, every joint and muscle aching, and sees what he's done to Agent McFuckface.

With a grunt he slams the hammer in his hand into the dead agent's skull and leaves it there.

As he's catching his breath and trying to work out where to go next, he hears applause behind him. Whirling around, Mustafa sees Death coming towards him.

Well, a huge machete-wielding man in a chest harness and white pants with red dots who's wearing a clown mask that has orange hair sticking out the sides is close to being the embodiment of Death as makes no difference, really.

"That was intense! You looked like you really worked through your issues," the clown says.

Mustafa shrugs. "Some of them."

The clown approaches. If Mustafa were less drained of emotion after beating in the face of the last of his pursuers, he'd be afraid. As it is, he's thinking if the clown will chop his head off immediately or just remove his limbs one by one. Both would suck, except one would suck less.

"Look, man, if you're gonna kill me, I'd appreciate a quick death," Mustafa says.

Despite the mask, the clown looks offended. "Kill you? Why would I do that?"

Mustafa raises an eyebrow and points at the blood-stained machete in the other man's hand.

"Oh, this? Don't worry about it. I am not killing someone who's just put on a passionate and focused performance. It was stunning!" He tilts his head and, through the eyeholes, he winks. "Get it? Stunning?"

Mustafa glances at Agent McShithead. He chuckles. "Yeah. Took his breath right away."

The clown laughs uproariously. "I like you! You're funny!" Suddenly the machete swings through the air, right towards Mustafa's neck.

It stops before the blade breaks skin.

Mustafa glances down, then his gaze follows the weapon all the way along to the massive arm and trails up to the clown's masked face. "That was fucking impressive, man. That control."

"You didn't even flinch." The clown sounds different now, almost serious. "Most people would've flinched. Or screamed. I've heard so much screaming."

"You said you wouldn't kill someone who put on a stunning performance. And you said you like me."

"I could've been lying."

"A guy like you? Nah. You have no need to lie." Mustafa spits on the dead agent. "Fuckers like him and his boss lie."

The clown lowers the machete and tilts his head quizzically. "You sound like you got a story."

"You wanna hear it? I don't wanna bore ya."

"Hmmm. I'm trying to come up with a new play. My previous one was a flop." The clown stares at Mustafa. "Maybe I can use some inspiration..."

Mustafa waits. He has nothing else to do, anyway. He can't go back east to Topeka, take out a sharp implement, and ram it through Agent Stone's head the way he wants to. He remembers the way his mom had looked at where he was hiding just before-

"Alrighty then! How about you come with me to my place, I'll treat you to some white tiger steaks, and you can share all about how you got to the point of beating a man's brains in over a dinner." The clown holds up both hands. "I'm not trying to get in your pants, just so we're clear. I am a gentleman."

"Pity," Mustafa quips, offering a small smile. "Food sounds good. Lead the way."

The clown's voice seems to hold a smile. "By the way, I'm Sweet Tooth."

"Mustafa."

"Like the Lion King?"

"No, that's Mufasa. M-U-S-T-A-F-A. Mustafa."

The clown - Sweet Tooth - tries the name out a couple of times as they walk, and finally gets the right inflection. Then he points to a burnt shell of a hotel, with the word "RAGE" left on the wall. "Home sweet home."

Mustafa stares. Then he shrugs again and sticks his hands in his pockets. "You got a shower in there, Sweet Tooth?"

[supertalentedghostbassist]

(Overheard in bass studio)

“Yeah, my mom made everyone gift bags for Valentine’s Day”

“Ah, yes, that explains The Cronch”

[jesus-in-the-womb]

Golden Girl ~ Cherry Bomb // Steve Harrington

Steve Harrington x OG Character

Summary: innocence is a virtue, or isn't that what they say? Steve knows nothing of purity, yet that's all she was. Can he crack her stone-cold covers?

Warnings: Heavy angst, pining, eventual smut (warnings will ensue in that specific part), king! steve/cutie ScoopsAhoy!steve, innocent!OGC, kinda a slow burn :), fluff!, lots of jealousy in like ALL parts, OGC is innocent but severely horny 24/7.

NO USE OF Y/N (CHARACTER HAS HER OWN NAME!!)

A/N: I kinda wanna do a piece where I show the characters's outfits so you can click on this to see the fit if you'd like.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Word count: 9k

Part Summary: King Steve was completely thrown off his high horse the second he graduated, now he's making just under minimum wage by scooping cones and hitting on girls he'd never land. What happens when he says some dirty words to an angelic girl, who's just looking to satisfy her sweet tooth after a long day of work?

Part Warnings: dirty talk for literally a second, Steve is an absolute asswipe in this part, innocent!OGC, perv!Steve, masturbation (m and f), phone sex, mentions of Billy Hargrove x OGC.

Absolute hell. That's the only way Steve could describe his job, hell. It was bad enough that he was dressed like a mock 'Smee' from Peter Pan, did he really have to recite the Scoops' stupid slogan to every single person who walked through the non-existent door? Yes.

"Set sail on this ocean on flavor with me, I'll be your cap'n." he paused and looked at the dumb gaze locked onto the child that stood before him. His face was covered in spit, mouth open and drooling onto the floor. He grimaced, noting to himself that he'd make Robin clean it up. The kid barked out his order, pointing at the glass case he could just barely see over if he stood on his tippy toes.

As he busied himself with the young boy's order, he couldn't help but be distracted by the sounds of two girls rushing into the shop. The two were gossiping about something that had happened during their shift, Steve concluding that they worked at the record store across from his own. The girls were polar opposites, their outfits and personalities were complete contrasts between the two of them. One of the girls was wearing the most grunge look Steve could ever think to see in the late '70s. Her black ripped jeans clung to her thin legs, bright red band t-shirt clashing against the pale beige of her friend’s knitted cardigan. Neither girls were his type, not in a million years. But, the pleated skirt on the other one caught his eyes. The skin of her thighs were soft, barely shown between her knee-length socks and the skirt itself. He eyed her form, drinking in her haphazardly done-up bun, hair falling out and framing her near angelic face. 

She was hot, and there was no denying it. It didn’t matter to him that she was most likely a stuck-up priss with no intentions of ever getting with someone like him, he was gonna try.

“Ahoy Ladies,” he slammed his palms down on the counter, earning a jump from the girls, “set sail on this ocean of flavor with me, I’ll be your cap’n,” he winked at the modest girl, pretty much ignoring her mock Munson friend, “the name’s, Steve.” he watched her swallow a grimace, noticing how fake her smile looked as she glanced over to her friend in hopes of a savior.

“Alrighty, Cap’n Steven, recommend me a flavor oh ‘mighty one.” the metalhead mocked him, quickly making a joke of his pitiful attempt at wooing her friend. His cockiness was immediately gone, soon replaced with annoyance. 

“Ya like bubblegum?” he questioned unamused, pointing his beloved scooper at the many pails of ice cream, “what about cotton candy.” his expression was bored, embarking on a stare-off with the overzealous girl. She placed her hands on her hips, looking toward her friend for a split second. 

“One cone of rocky road, please Cap’n Smee.” he nearly groaned at the nickname, constantly hearing the comparison throughout his never-ending shifts.

“And for you?” he asked politely, looking over at her quiet friend in hopes of engaging in conversation with her. She looked around the case, choosing not to speak as she gave a pointed look toward the metalhead.

“She’ll have a vanilla cone with rainbow sprinkles.” he raised his brow, confused as to why the girl suddenly became mute, his ego slightly spiking at the idea of her being nervous around him. Which she was, in a sense. The girl found it hard to speak in the presence of anyone new, relying on her outspoken ‘bestie’ for assistance. How did she have a customer service job you might ask? No fucking clue. 

Steve let out a soft ‘mmk’, making quick work of dishing out their orders. He handed the first girl her cone, all but thrusting it in her direction as she snatched it from his hands. When he turned to the quieter one, he softly held it out to her, nearly melting at her gentle touch. 

“Thank you,” she smiled politely at him, holding her hand up to drop a few dollars into his hand, giving him more than the actual total. When he went to hand back her change, she put her hands up in a surrender like motion, shaking her head with a soft smile, “your tip, for being so kind.”

“Oh, well, thank you…” he trailed off, hoping to catch her name. Before he could even ask, they turned around, either not noticing his itch to question or not caring entirely. He let out a sigh, turning around at the sound of his coworker sliding the window to the backroom open.

“Ooh, and another one bites the dust!” Robin’s voice was loud catching the customer's attention before she lowered it to protect the boy’s dignity, “you are oh-for-six, Popeye.” she drew a line on the company’s whiteboard, under the scribbled words of a chart that read of “YOU RULE | YOU SUCK”.

Steve was annoyed, yet another possible triumph was ripped out from beneath his feet like the moldy rug that sat in his aunt Judy’s basement.

“Yeah, yeah. I can count.” he crossed his arms, leaning his back against the counter and blocking out the insistent calls from hungry teenagers.

“You know that means you suck.” Robin put emphesis on the ‘suck’, hoping to torture the man even further as he grew exasperated. 

“Yup, I can read, too.” she threw an incredulous look his way, eyes wide in mock surprise.

“Since when?” she set the board down, preparing for his ritual ‘it’s this hat’ rant.

“It’s this stupid hat,” yup, right on the nose with this one, Robin, “I am telling you, it is totally blowing my best feature.” he motioned to his hair, forcing the blonde to look at him with mock pity.

“I think, maybe, and hear me out,” she paused for good measure, attempting to add dramatic flair to her assumption, “you’re trying to hook, line, and sinker a girl who couldn’t be bothered with the likes of King Steve.” her words pulled a quizatory gaze upon the mans face, features twisting in slight frustration.

“Stop, stop calling me that. And, what do y’mean ‘couldnt be bothered’,” he quoted the air, perplexed as to what high horse this mystery girl sat on.

“Do you even know who she is?” she asked, pure curiosity struggling to cover her amusement.

“Not a god damned clue.” 

“Nicole Campbell? Nickie? Angel of Hawkins?” the girl was trying hard, hoping to strike Steve with familiarity, but he was clearly too far up his own ass to know the names of anyone who wasn’t inside his circle, or inside his bed, “jesus dude, she’s the school’s good girl. The nicest chick you’ll ever have the pleasure of meeting.”

Steve’s face was hilarious to his friend, eyes blown as wide as saucers, pretending as if he knew exactly who she was, “ohh right! Nicole Barbell!” he was an absolute idiot.

“No, tool, Campbell, like the soup.” she corrected, hoping he’d catch on and stop being so stupid.

“Campbell, whatever. What’s wrong with Steve Harrington, why would she never wanna be with me?” his ego was insane, Robin thought. Who the hell genuinely thinks like that, like there is not a single thing out of place with them so everyone should like them.

She could give him a million reasons as to why the angelic girl would never want to be with the likes of Steve Harrington, why she would never treat him with anything other than kindness. She’d known the girls since freshman year, the two sharing the same pottery class for 3 years in a row and growing to be friends. She had watched too many boys walk up to her friend and strike out immediately, the girl always turning them down but quickly offering up a replacement for someone more suited to their person. Not once had the girl ever accepted an offer to go on a date, never even kissed a boy. She’d confided in Robin, explaining that she never really had the need to be in a relationship, unlike her fellow classmates that were foaming at the mouth for a taste of Hawkins angel.

At first, Robin hated the girl, despising her for constantly having both men and women surrounding her nearly every second of every day. But, when she’d learned how sweet and charismatic the girl was, she quickly fell under her spell, following her like a lost puppy with the rest of the school. The fact that Steve had no idea who she was, baffled the blonde. If anything, their popularity ranks in school surely called for a steamy romance to bloom. But alas, Steve Harrington had been too hung up on Nancy Wheeler and his self-image to even notice the celestial girl trailing slightly behind him in her own high school glory.

“She’s too good for you, and I mean that literally. That girl is the definition of sweetheart.” Robin was being as truthful as she could. Although she didn’t know that she’d be convincing Steve that Nicole would be his next conquest, the man was already coming up with ways to attempt to seduce her.

“So,” he paused, knowing his next words were going to be outlandish and extremely perverted, yet he was just oh so curious to know, “is she like a virgin or something?”

“Jesus, Steve, gross! You’re such a horndog.” his friend was annoyed, becoming uncomfortable at the question as if it were about her. She hated how easily he sexualized her friend, wishing she could punch him in his ‘noggin and knock the thoughts permanently from his head. But, he was dead set on finding out, dead set on making her his next project.

Nicole’s shift went like any other, helping someone find an album they most likely had displayed right in front of their faces, ringing customers up at the register, and gossiping with her co-worker turned friend, Melissa. On today’s menu, she chose to ask about the cute sailor boy they’d encountered on their break, curious as to who he was. 

“So, do you know who that Steve guy is?” she inquired, helping Mel sort the albums that had been moved out of their place.

“Eh, kinda,” she paused, narrowing her eyes at the girl across from her who sunk into a bit of embarrassment for even asking, “why?”

“I- I don’t know. He just seemed familiar is all.” alike Robin, Mel became baffled. Before the two had started working at Sam Goody’s, Melissa had never uttered a word to the practically famous girl, always steering clear of the popular crowd. When she walked into Sam’s to apply, she’d been met with the friendly and kind face of Nickie, excitedly forcing her to apply immediately, stoked to finally have a female co-worker. The two hit it off on Mel’s first shift, becoming two peas in a pod. She found it hard to believe that Nicole had zero clue as to who Steve the hair Harrington was, both of them being household names throughout Hawkins; star athlete Harrington and golden girl Anders. 

“You’re telling me that you don’t know who Steve Harrington is?” 

“Name and face seem familiar, but uh, yea, no idea.” she shrugged, making her way back to the register as a family met her halfway.

“That’s bull, no way in hell, do you not know who Steve is. You two are practically royalty in Hawkins, how do you not know each other?” Mel interrogated incredulously, determined to figure out how the two of you had never crossed paths.

“First, be mindful of the children in the store,” she turned to the horrified mother, quickly apologizing for Mel’s harsh words, in which the metalhead simply rolled her eyes, “and second, I don’t know, maybe,” she trailed off, trying to find the right words, but ultimately confusing herself even further as she let out a sigh, “I don’t know, okay?”

“Hey, don’t get worked up over it, I was just curious.” Mel rubbed her shoulder comfortingly, lightly nudging her out of the way to finish ringing up the family, something she did when she could tell the sweet girl needed a few seconds to herself.

Nicole stepped back, sending a soft smile to the family before making her way to the back of the store, finding a safe space among the Fleetwood Mac shrine. If she couldn’t find solace within her own mind, then maybe she could find some in the charming voice of Stevie Nicks. Removing the cassette from its confines, she placed it in her walkman that she had strapped to her hip at all times, picking the headphones up from around her neck and placing them over her ears.

The sweet beat of Dreams clouded her thoughts, pulling the girl from reality and into a mindful space of music and daydreaming. She moved her hips lightly to the beat, unceremoniously moving her body to the song as she mouthed the words. Her feet carried her to the front of the store, pointing her finger at Mel and whisper yelling the lyrics at her friend like a mad man. The metalhead laughed, always enjoying this side of her friend once the music started going. 

The family had left the store moments before, so Mel thought she’d let the girl have her fun, playing the air guitar and spurring her on even more as Nicole spun in between aisles of records. To Mel’s enjoyment, her friend waltzed over towards her, removing her headphones and pausing her walkman. She knew what this meant, she knew that in a few short seconds, she’d be forced to hear the lovely sounds of Stevie Nicks’ vocals as they surrounded the entire shop. Nicole pressed play, letting the music flow through the speakers that covered the walls of Sam Goody’s. 

“Now here you go again, you say, you want your freedom!” Nicole grabbed her friend by the hands, pulling her out from behind the counter and into the middle of the shop. The two danced and twirled away, belting the lyrics out and getting weird looks from the patrons outside, walking quicker to their next destination to avoid the odd pair. Unbeknownst to them, their voices carried out across the food court, entering the shops around them like a carried bit of wind. Steve stopped what he was doing, hand pausing on the table he was currently cleaning as he glanced around the mall. When his eyes landed on the record store, he couldn’t help but chuckle, almost in awe as the two girls carelessly flung themselves about. It wasn’t too enjoyable to watch, growing embarrassed for the two of them as they danced offbeat and sang out of tune. He did, however, find his eyes moving towards Nicole. No matter how hard he tried to avert his eyes and look elsewhere, he always found himself admiring the way she danced about, with not a care in the world for how she might’ve looked.

To Steve, she looked like a dork, a dork who couldn’t hold a beat as she bounced on the dark blue carpet that lined the shops’ floors. Although he would never be caught dead dancing in such a public place, he couldn’t help but admire her bravery. Surely, she knew that people could see her, right? If not, he couldn’t wait to see the look on her face when she noticed. 

To his surprise, when the song ended, she didn’t stop, giddily running to the record player and queuing up the next song for her concert. If it wasn’t for her gestures and tone deaf voice that echoed across the food court, he wouldn’t have a single clue as to what song was playing next.

He scoffed in disbelieve, the sounds of ‘Cherry Bomb’ by The Runaways blasting through the speakers, louder than the last song. He found it very hard to believe that such a sweet and innocent girl like herself, per Robin’s demanding speech, would be listening to a song like Cherry Bomb. If anything, it intrigued him more. Who was this ‘golden girl, and why was she so fascinating?

“Robin, I’ll be right back,” Steve yelled out to the blonde girl, hoping she wouldn’t question him.

When she entered the lobby of the ice cream parlor to ask him where he was going, she was met with the sight of Mel and Nicole, snorting out a laugh before she realized that Steve was making his way to the pair, “Wait, Steve! No!” She wished she could run after him, tackle him to the shiny floors of the mall, but she couldn’t leave the shop unattended. So, she decided to sacrifice her friend's dignity for her job, praying that Nicole would forgive her for not stopping the boy.

“Didn’t peg you as the type.” Steve had to yell, the song blaring so loud he was sure his ears would go numb. Nicole let out a scream, holding her hand to her chest as Mel ran to turn the song down.

“I’m- I’m sorry, what?”

“Didn’t peg you as the type to enjoy this kinda music, is all.” The fluffy-haired boy wore a smirk, confidence oozing from his persona and onto the record store floor. Gross, Mel thought.

“Oh, this?” Nicole gestured up at the speakers that had immensely quieted, “Um, yea. It’s just a good song, I guess?” 

Steve was anything but enamored, staring her down with a hungry gaze that made her squirm in her spot. Gross, again, Mel voiced inside her head.

“Bit hardcore, don’t ya think?” Nicole shook her head no, a sheepish smile on her face as her body burned with embarrassment from being caught.

“Can I help you with something, Smee?” Mel interrupted, attempting to save her friend from the heartbreaker.

“Uh, yes actually,” he glanced over at Nicole,” you got her number?” 

“Ew, get out.” Mel felt like gagging, his sexual attraction for her friend radiating throughout the store and sending a disgusted shiver down her spine. Mel was uncomfortable, grossed out by his obvious advances. Nicole on the other hand, well she all but tripped on her way over to Steve, pulling a pen out of her pocket as she neared him.

“Do you have a piece of paper?” she asked quietly, unsure as to why she was even agreeing to give the man her number. He stuck his hand out, exposing his wrist as he flipped it over, prompting her to write the digits on his skin. She did, pink ink seeping into his pores and most likely giving him some form of ink poisoning. She signed her name underneath the numbers, replacing the dots in Nickie with adorable hearts. Steve let out a chuckle, sending her a wink and leaving the store as quickly as he entered. 

Nicole watched him walk across the food court, hearts practically taking shape in her eyes as he sashayed away, cockiness absorbing him. Melissa stood at the counter dumbfounded, jaw nearly slapping the ground with how wide her opened mouth was. 

“What the hell just happened?” Mel couldn’t believe her eyes, she needed verbal confirmation that her friend had just given her number to ‘The Hair’.

“Stop, you saw what happened.” Nickie was shy, tucking the loose strands of her bun behind her ears and moving to pick up a few albums that had dropped to the floor in the midst of their dancing.

“Yea, you gave your number to that asswipe.” she retracted into herself when she saw the girl roll her eyes. Three minutes of Steve Harrington and she was already showing a mean side that Mel had never seen from her before.

“He’s not a buttwipe, he’s kinda sweet.” That's it, Mel was going to be sick.

“Gross.”

Across the food court, Steve was absolutely pumping with adrenaline. He couldn’t deny the fact that he was completely surprised, not expecting the girl to give him the time of day. But, when she took her time to neatly scribble her number down in a cute font, he all but popped a boner. As he walked through the entrance to his workplace, he feigned a sad smile, walking around the counter to stand next to Robin.

“Aww, you strike out Stevie? Let me go get the board.” Robin walked into the back, holding the whiteboard up in the opened window as she went to put yet another checkmark underneath the ‘YOU SUCK’ category.

“Move that marker over to ‘YOU RULE’, because king Steve is back in the game, baby, woo!” he pumped his arms in the air, flashing the pink numbers Robin’s way as the blonde’s eyes widened.

“No way, no fucking way!” her mouth mirrored Mel’s, growing in size as disbelief rendered her body still, “that’s gotta be a fake.” she walked back into the lobby, pulling his forearm towards her to inspect the writing. Robin couldn’t believe it, there was no way in hell that out of all the people she’d finally give her number to, it’d be Steve Harrington. Sure enough, her actual number sat inked into his skin, Robin groaning at the adorable signature she’d left underneath it.

“Told you it was the stupid hat,” he smirked, growing cocky with the fact that he’d finally landed a girl. He’d been trying all summer, never quite hitting the ball until Nickie came along, knocking it straight out of the park. Not only was he especially proud of himself, he couldn’t wait to call her, but he found himself drooling at the thought of what she’d be like in bed. Steve wasn’t usually a pervert like this, always taking girls on dates and never expecting much in return, although he wouldn’t say no if they decided to get on their knees for him. But, with the promise of Nicole being inexperienced, all he could think about was defiling her. He knew it was wrong, knew that it was extremely wrong of him to think about her like this, but he couldn’t help it. With a final glance at her workplace, he busied himself with tasks, so as to act as if she didn’t exist, using his usual tricks when it came to women. Little did he know, Nicole Anders was far from the usual woman, and she had no intention of entertaining a man who treated her as if she didn’t exist.

After the first night had passed, and there was no call from Steve, Nicole began to worry that she’d given him the wrong number. On day two, she recalled that she’d written her number correctly, so she assumed he must’ve been too busy to call. On night three, Nicole was pissed. She rarely got mad at people, so the fact that the Harrington boy had pissed her off to this level, was worrisome. Steve was living his best life, pretending as if he’d never met the girl before and going about his day, itching to call her but deciding that the best idea was to wait. On the fourth night, Steve picked up the phone, attempting to decipher the numbers that were nearly faded on his arm. After a few miscalls, he finally dialed the right one, listening to it ring as he sat confidently perched on his desk chair, fixing his hair as if the girl could see him.

Upon her picking up, he could hear the heavy notes of Cherry Bomb playing in the background softly; of course, he thought.

“Hello?” her angelic voice sounded confused, wondering who was calling her at 10 pm on a Sunday night.

“Hey, it’s Steve,” he smirked, waiting to hear her gasp of surprise like he usually did when this happened.

“Oh, what’s up.” he sat straight, confusion clouding his form at her nonchalant response. Why wasn’t she squealing?

“Uh- uh nothing, just, thought I’d call you. See how you were doing.” He attempted to play through it, hoping she’d succumb to his forced seduction that was honestly teetering on the edge of embarrassing. 

“I’m fine.” this was weird, he thought. Why wasn’t she swooning over his voice, over the fact that he’d finally called?

“Did,” he paused, already cursing himself for dropping his playboy act; it wasn’t working, so might as well be himself, “did I do something?”

“I don’t know, Steve, you tell me.” with that she hung up, Steve pulling the phone from his ear with a grimace at the painful sound of her slamming the receiver back to its base. She was upset, he could tell. Instead of being rational and assuming he was an absolute idiot for leaving her hanging for 4 days, he dialed her number once again, thankful that he’d written it down after she’d answered.

He called again, growing excited as she picked up his call once again, maybe she was mad at someone else, “Hey, why did-”

“Piss off.” he was wrong, she was clearly mad at him. Although Steve had his obvious good looks, he wasn’t too blessed in the smarts category, chalking up her anger to something happening outside of his realm. And once again, instead of rationally thinking, he exited his house swiftly. Before he left, he made a quick call to Robin, praying that she knew where Nicole lived. Robin, being half asleep told him the address, realization only dawning on her when she hung up, “Oops”. 

He made it to the girl’s house, admiring the homes that lined her subdivision as he parked two houses down. It was now 11 pm, he was not about to walk up to the front door with a charming smile and ask her parents to see their daughter at close to midnight. So, he opted for scaling the side of her two-story house, moving gracefully due to his practice at the Wheeler’s. Praying he’d find her window first; and not catch a glimpse of her parents doing the dirty, he moved to the first window on the second floor, peering just over the corner to see inside.

He was lucky, the room obviously belonged to you. Pinks and browns were strewn across the room, stuffed animals stacked high in a beanbag chair in the corner, desk littered with books and cassette tapes. There she stood, leaning over her vanity and applying some sort of night cream in her adorable PJs. She wore these fluffy white shorts, cupping to her skin just below her bottom, a white fluffy top to match, dipping low enough to show the slopes of her breasts. Steve nearly moaned at how hot she looked in her night attire, loving the way her smooth legs were on show, stomach just barely appearing through the flowy portion of her top. He softly rapped his knuckles against the glass of her window, causing the girl to jump in fear and hold up an unused curling wand as a makeshift weapon. 

“Steve?” she whispered, moving to open the window in hopes that it was him and not some weirdo, “what are you doing here? Wait, how do you know where I live?” she grew fearful, almost slamming the window down on his back as he attempted to climb through it.

“Ow,” he made it in, moving past her to sit on her bed as she softly shut the window closed, “Robin told me, needed to check up on you.”

“You don’t find it weird that you barely know me and your sneaking into my room in the middle of the night?” she asked perplexed, a bit uncomfortable about having him in the safe haven she called her bedroom. Quickly moving her foot to push a pair of panties she’d peeled off this morning under her bed, she advanced toward him, choosing to sit on her pillows and not too close to the handsome boy. 

“Well, yeah, I guess it’s kinda weird. But, you seemed upset on the phone, I wanted to make sure you were okay.” he was trying to be sweet, picking up the nearest stuffed animal; which happened to be a plush dog, and moving its arms in a mock hugging motion, an adorable faux pout on his lips.

“I told you I was fine, Steve. You didn’t need to go all Rambo.” she joked, keeping her eyes on the toy in his hands as she spoke.

“You didn’t seem fine, what’s up?” he set the plush down, laying on his side and peering up at the girl, whom he could tell was growing anxious in his proximity. He hoped it was a good anxious.

“I’m just annoyed,” she admitted, picking at the skin of her fingers uncomfortably.

“With?” he pushed, hoping to get some form of an answer from her. What he didn’t expect, was for her to kick her leg out towards him, pushing him off he bed with an umph as he tried to recover on the carpet.

“You!” she all but yelled, “you asked for my number, but then waited 4 days to fricken call me? What the heck!” he wanted to chuckle at her lack of cussing, replacing the ‘taboo’ words with common fraises he heard come from a certain curly-haired freak he called his friend. But, he couldn’t, not when she was clearly upset with him and his usually successful antics.

“I’m sorry?” he didn’t know what to say, most girls brushing his lack of care to the side in hopes of landing a steamy night in the bedroom with him, “I didn’t know that is would upset you.”

“Annoy me,” she corrected, rolling her eyes and sitting up on her bed with her legs crossed underneath her, “you annoyed me, why?”

“I don’t know. That stuff usually works with chicks.”

She scoffed, placing a pillow in her lap to hug instead of beating him to a pulp with her growing anger, “I’m not a chick, Steve. I’m a person.”

“I know, I know.” he stood from the floor, awkwardly making his way to her bed, “I’m sorry.”

She shot her hand out, pointing at her bedroom window with her manicured nails, gesturing for him to leave, “Out, now.” he held his hands up, making his way to her window in mock surrender.

“See you tomorrow?” he asked hopeful.

“Yeah, yeah. Now leave weirdo.” she giggled, Steve noting how pretty she looked with a smile on her face. 

He sent a wink her way, opening the pane of glass and sliding back out into the warm summer air of Hawkins. As he descended down her house, he couldn’t help but find a large grin on his face, jogging happily to his car. Although he had made her mad, she was still sweet as ever, in the end, making him hopeful. 

He spent his night thinking of her, his hand venturing under his covers as he pictured her body and the way it looked in her PJs, supple flesh nearly all on show for him. He imagined what she would look like naked, underneath him and begging for him to do something, tears streaming down her face. He was close, pumping his hard cock to the thought of her voice, her face, literally everything about her. It felt so wrong, yet so right, touching himself whilst thinking about all the things he would do to her. He made a split-second decision, pausing his ministrations to grab the phone off of his nightstand, making quick work of dialing her number for the third time that night.

After a few rings, she answered, voice slightly whiny and filled with sleep, causing the man to groan as his hand continued where he left off, “Hello? Steve?” 

“Hey, pretty. You sleepin’?” he tried to be as inconspicuous as he could, his hips thrusting up into his hand at the sound of her gentle voice.

“I was, what’s up? You okay?” her concern was charming, making Steve’s fist move faster.

“I’m great, you?” he had no idea why he called her, maybe this was a bad idea.

“Steve, what- what is that noise?” oh no, she could hear. He now realized that he’d been caught, the wet sounds of his palm jerking his heavy cock were loud, echoing through the mic and into the girl’s ear.

“I’m sorry, I just needed to hear your voice.” he apologized, not caring to slow down even as he was caught.

“Oh, I. Uh, I don’t know what to say.” she grew shy, thighs clenching together at the thought of him touching himself. 

“Why don’t you help me, baby? Go on, touch yourself.” he was overly confident, not worrying about the fact that she could hang up and turn him into the laughing stock of the town. She could easily tell everyone that Steve Harrington called her at 1 in the morning, jerking off and asking her to help him catch his release by joining him. 

She wasn’t a prude, she’d often touched herself at night, constantly getting off to the thought of being fucked by an imaginary man she’d read about in a romance novel she stole from Mel. So, when she trailed her hand down her body to her shorts, Steve could’ve sworn he was in heaven. He listened to the rustling sounds of her hand underneath her quilt. He nearly busted when she let out a whimper, his name following shortly after.

“You wet, pretty?” he groaned out, squeezing the base of his cock as he listened to the sounds of her whining.

“Mhm, s’wet for you Stevie.” He all but moaned out loud, giving a sharp tug to his length at the girl’s admission.

She wasn’t new to masturbation, that was clear. But, she was new to any form of sexual intimacy with someone. So, it was weird how easily she responded to him, as if she’d had phone sex before, growing alarmingly aroused at his husky voice as it bled through the speaker of her phone. Nicole had barely touched herself, and she was already nearing an orgasm, embarrassingly fast.

“Fuck, baby. Let me hear it.” Steve didn’t care that his request was odd, couldn’t give two shits. Especially when the girl moaned, pulling the phone from her ear and down to her heat, resting the microphone on her inner thigh as she continued to rub her clit. Steve let out a loud groan, pumping his cock faster at the sounds of her wet cunt and subtle moaning in the background. Jesus, he couldn’t remember the last time he was this hard, this horny for someone.

She put the phone back to her ear, letting out a squeak as she entered a finger into her tight hole, pumping the digit in and out, “feels s’good, Stevie.” the nickname nearly made him combust, his stomach pulling tight at her words.

“Jesus, you’re so fucking sexy. Wanna fuck you so bad.” once again, he didn’t care if he was being weird, letting his thoughts spill from his mind and into the receiver. 

“I’m c-close.” he sped up, wanting to cum with her. He knew that this was all too soon, too quick to even establish boundaries, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t care, not with her whiny moans and sopping wet cunt reeling him into the deep end and clutching him close. It would surely be awkward the next time they saw each other, surely uncomfortable for the both of them, but neither one could care. Nicole didn’t care. She didn’t care that she was making it easy for the Harrington boy. Didn’t care that she’d feel extremely guilty afterward. As long as she got to cum, that’s all she could care about in the end.

“Me too, cum for me baby. Cum on your fingers.” she did, moaning loudly into the phone and immediately pulling a release from the boy. The two cumming together, reaching their highs with erotic moans. 

“Holy shit, Steve” that was the first time he’d heard the girl swear, and he nearly snorted at how odd it sounded coming from her. The two quickly came down from their highs, realizing what had just happened in the wake of their tiredness.

“Uh, I’ll see you tomorrow.” he rushed out, throwing his arm over his eyes as he grimaced at how awkward he was being.

“Yeah, tomorrow.” she quickly hung up, tossing the phone away from her and back onto the base. What the hell just happened?

Nearly 10 miles apart, the two lay in their respective beds, staring up at their ceilings in disbelief. Steve couldn’t believe how much of a horny teenager he could be when it came down to it, throwing all rationality out the window in order to chase his release. Nicole couldn’t believe what she had just done, guilt and humiliation closing in around her and swallowing her whole. She’d known the man for only 4 days, not even. Yet, here she was, handing him her innocence on a platter with no regard for her own emotions. She had morals, but she couldn’t find them at that moment. Tomorrow was going to be so awkward.

And, it was. The two barely held eye contact for more than a few seconds, both burning bright red and practically running away. Their friends started to catch on, Robin interrogating Steve and asking why he was being so weird, Mel comforting Nicole, refusing to ask what had happened and instead offering a shoulder to lean on. Steve was quick to throw Nicole under the bus, pulling Robin into the employee lounge and relaying everything to her. Robin sat wide-eyed, staring at Steve with utter confusion and awe.

“What are you drinking, dude? Can I have some, Jesus.” she stood, adjusting her hat before leaving him in the back to wallow in his confession. 

Nicole told her friend the more PG version, walking around the phone call and refusing to bring it up, humiliation eating away at her from the inside out. She felt smaller than usual, caving in on herself and walking around the shop like a kicked puppy.

“Stop beating yourself up, Nic,” her friend accused, rubbing her shoulder comfortingly, “it’s not like you had sex with him.” she offered a soft smile, the gesture falling when she saw how red her friend’s face became.

“You didn’t!” she exclaimed moving to stand in front of the girl who sat on the counter.

“I didn’t,” she wasn’t entirely lying. Well, yea they did things, but they didn’t have sex. It wasn’t that big of a deal, right? “But, we kinda did stuff over the phone last night.” she pursed her lips, choosing to look at the floor instead of the bewildered girl in front of her.

“What?!” she screamed, literally screamed, pulling the attention of patrons walking past the store; pulling the attention of Steve. He made eye contact with Nicole, immediately assuming what their conversation was about and sending her a glare. In his mind, it was okay that he told Robin, the girl becoming a best friend of sorts that he relied on. However, it wasn’t okay that Nicole had told blabber-mouth Melissa Scott about the incident. He shook his head like the asshole he was, and stomped into the back, leaving Nicole to groan out and jump off the counter, making her way out of the store.

“Where are you going? You haven’t even told me anything yet!” her friend called out, watching her wordlessly stomp to the ice cream parlor. Letting out an awkward sigh she turned around, eyes wide and lips pulled into a tight line, “here lies Steve Harrington, Hawkin’s resident idiot.”

She marched into the shop, making eye contact with her friend Robin, she’d say hi later. Without a second thought, she entered the back, finding Steve sitting at the singular table. He had his head in his hands, leg bouncing with anxiety.

“What the hell was that look for?” Nickie seethed, scaring the boy with her sudden presence. 

“What are you doing back here?” he answered with a question, looking up at her with annoyance.

“What was that look for.” she repeated, not backing down until she got an answer.

“You tell me, Ms. Perfect.” he spit, pretending to be bored as he looked down at his hands.

“Ms. Perfect?” she asked incredulously, “what is your problem?” 

“My problem,” he paused, standing up to tower over her with his height, “is you. Opening your dirty little mouth and telling Mel what happened last night.” 

Robin could hear the conversation from where she stood, hell everyone in Scoops could hear the conversation. She grew annoyed, scoffing at the double standard he laid out for her friend as if he didn’t tell Robin herself what had happened.

“As if you didn’t tell anyone, King Steve.” Nicole was outraged, knowing damn well he had to have told someone, after what she learned about him from both Robin and Mel.

“Well I guess it doesn’t matter anymore, does it? Got what I wanted, didn’t I?” he regretted his words the second he spoke them, watching the girl before him deflate immediately.

“So- So what, I was just some stupid accomplishment for you?” she felt tears prick at her eyes, chest bubbling with disappointment and hurt. 

Digging himself an even deeper hole, he let out a fake laugh, nodding his head at her words and breaking her soul into a million tiny pieces, “yea, pretty much. Kinda easy too, if you think about it.”

A sob left her throat, it didn’t matter that they hadn’t even had sex, just the plain and simple fact that she’d let him in, only for him to throw it back in her face hurt like hell. It hurt so bad, that she found herself stomping towards him, her palm slapping across his face and leaving his cheek to sting.

“Fuck you, Steve.” her words hurt, more than he wanted to admit. He refused to look at her, eyes finding the blurry outline of Robin’s head through the window more interesting than Nicole’s. He wanted to apologize, take it all back, but she wasn’t his in the first place. They were stupid 18-year-olds, having a stupid sexcipade as their only true encounter between them. What he said was wrong, he knew that, but he wasn’t going to get on his knees and beg for her forgiveness. Not yet, at least. 

She left almost as fast as she had entered, running past a concerned Robin and out of the mall. She hadn’t even gotten to her car before she was breaking down, looking crazed as she sobbed along her way. She didn’t know what she was expecting to happen after the phone call, but it surely wasn’t this outcome. Not a single one of her assumptions could line up with what had just happened between her and Steve, not one.

She probably should’ve stayed at work, a lengthy phone call from her boss waiting for her at home, but she couldn’t. Not when she’d be forced to stand less than 100 yards from the one person she wanted to hide from right now. Instead of wallowing in self-pity, she immediately changed out of her work clothes, throwing her swimming suit on with the thought of hopefully drowning in the public pool. She decided to keep the outfit simple, tossing her dad’s button-up on, and tucking it into her denim overalls. 

With only the thought of submerging her overheated body in chlorine water, she set off. The drive was shorter than she expected, pulling up to the outdoor pool and walking in after handing the front office a few quarters for the entry fee. She easily could’ve avoided paying, sneaking past the two teens who probably would’ve just rolled their eyes. But alas, her morals were too strong. She made her way over to an open chair, pulling her clothes from her body and exposing her not-so-modest bikini. Even after being practically slut shamed, she didn’t care enough to throw on her one piece. It was way too hot for her to care about being judged by the mothers at the pool. Who were, in fact, sitting next to her, Karen Wheeler leaning over to softly pat the girl’s knee in hopes to gain her attention.

“Hi, sweetie,” the mom called, smiling brightly at her, “haven’t seen you in a while. How are you?”

“Oh, Mrs.Wheeler, I’m good, and you?” she responded politely, working sunscreen into her calves mid-conversation.

“Ah, the usual, hiding from my husband and kids,” she joked, pulling a forced laugh from Nicole, “So, you here to swim or?”

“Isn’t that what a pool is for?” she asked confused.

“Well yeah, but,” she trailed off, leaning closer in her direction to whisper something that utterly shocked the girl, “there’s a nice piece of eye candy working the lifeguard post, you got here just in time.”

Nickie looked over her shoulder, watching multiple heads turn toward the men’s locker room. Out walked Billy Hargrove in all his glory, abs on show and mullet gracefully flowing in the wind. Nicole knew who he was, avoiding him all throughout her senior year in hopes of never having to meet the new kid. Usually, she’d be sticking by their side, helping them to classes and opening their locker for them, but after hearing that he was quite the womanizer, she didn’t want to risk being wooed. Billy walked along the edge of the pool and stopped at the sight of a little kid running on the concrete. His whistle sounded out, pulling a grimace onto Nicole’s face at the shrill sound. 

“Hey, lard-ass!” Nicole followed his line of sight, finding a chunky boy stopped in his steps, fearful of the much older and stronger boy, “No running on my watch! I gotta warn you-” she cut his yelling out with a sigh, feeling bad for the boy, but not saying anything like the rest of the pool goers. She continued to apply her sunscreen, moving from her legs to her stomach, attempting to get her lower back before she let out a huff of annoyance. Damn her short arms.

“Need some help sweetheart?” she looked up, the sun being blocked out by Billy’s much larger form as he towered over her.

“Um, sure?” without realizing how intimate applying sunscreen for someone else could be, she handed him the bottle, turning around and holding her hair up in a makeshift bun, exposing her smooth back.

She listened to the squirting sound the bottle made, body going still as his large hands palmed her back, massaging the lotion into her skin. Although the women around her were jealous as all hell, they bit there lips at the scene before them. Pretending the girl was themselves, they watching his hands dip under the strings of her bikini, fingers softly digging into the flesh of her lower back, sensually rubbing the milky cream in. Nicole thought nothing of it, turning with a smile and thanking him for applying it.

“Anytime, sweetheart.” he watched her stand, eyes zeroing in on her ass as she all but sashayed to the pool’s steps. He held his breath, the girl unknowingly putting on a show for him and the other hungry men at the pool as she descended down the stairs and into the water. She immediately dove under, coming up just as quick to push her hair back and out of her face as it became wet. She wasn’t even trying to, but she was being seductive as hell, Billy biting the tip of his sunglasses and watching the water cascade down her front and over the slopes of her breasts. He nearly tripped up the ladder to his seat, eyes never leaving her form as she swam from one end of the pool to the other. Although his job was to watch everyone at the pool, he sat comfortably in his seat, sporting a half hard cock and keeping his eyes on her. He knew who she was, constantly hearing about the famous good girl of Hawkins High the second he had gotten there. He never payed too much mind to the fact that they’d never crossed paths. Now he could see the enigma everyone spoke of, he finally met Nicole Anders. And god was he happy to. She was as sweet and as kind as everyone had said, hotter than what the guys at school described, why was he just now meeting her? He needed a piece of her, and fast. But, unlike Steve, he knew her type; running into many ‘angelic’ girls. He knew how to rile them up, in the best way. Start as charming as ever, wiggle your way into a friendship, take her on stupid cheesy dates and pretend to be the most gentleman like guy she’d ever meet, and then finally worm your way into her bed. And that, was exactly the Hargrove boy’s plan.

“Hey, your Nickie right?” he started, crouching down at the edge of the pool as she stopped to catch her breath. Her chlorine stained eyes blinked up at him, nodding quickly as she realized she didn’t answer, “sorry it took me this long to remember. I don’t think we’ve officially ever met, I’m Billy.” he held his hand out, not caring that she’d get him wet as he helped her out of the water.

“Nice to meet you Billy, I gotta get going though, I’ll see you later!” she called out, walking away from him but being stopped as he jogged to meet her quick strides. He unwrapped the dry towel from around his neck, offering it out to her. She gladly took it, smiling up at him as a thank you and wrapping it around her soaked body.

“I could give you a ride home?” he offered, hoping she’d say yes.

“I took my car here, thank you though.” although she was being sweet, he was growing annoyed, constantly being shut down, clearly she’d be more of a challenge then he thought.

“I-I’m sorry,” his hand grabbed her wrist softly, giving her space to pull away which she did, his eyes locked onto his empty hand before they looked down at his feet, his faux sadness fooling her, “I don’t mean to come off so strong. It’s just-” 

He paused, looking around the pool before lowering his voice so no one could hear him, “I don’t have many friends, with my being new and all, and, I don’t know. You’re one of the first people to be nice to me.” he shrugged. Although his words pained him, he wasn’t entirely lying. Of course people catered to him and now surround him as if he’s royalty, none of them were genuinely nice upon first meeting, unlike her.

“I’m sorry, the people here aren’t all that bad though, sometimes they just need some warming up. You’re kind and gentle, I’m sure they’ll fall inlove with you in no time.” Jesus, was this girl a saint or something?

“You, you think so?” he asked, feigning innocence as he looked around the pool in mock fear.

“I know so. Look, I gotta head home, but tomorrow im free?” she smiled as she placed her hand on his shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze that made him internally groan, “you can stop by my work while I’m on break, we can go get some food or something, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah, that sounds good. Where do you work?” it was hard for him not to take her right there, the sun glowing behind her and forming a halo of light above her head.

“I work in Starcourt. You know the record store, Sam’s?” he nodded, excitement and arousal coursing through his veins.

“See ya then.” he watched her walk off, adjusting his hard cock in his swimtrunks, not caring who saw. 

The next day, Steve had found himself constantly looking over at Sam’s, catching glimpses of Nicole as she chatted away with Mel and customers. Not once, did he catch her looking his way, acting as if he’d never existed. It was painful, sitting there and watching him ignore her. 

“Ahoy, Harrington.” the familiar voice bounced off the walls of the shop, striking shortly lived fear in some of the patrons. Steve looked up from his spot behind the counter, giving Billy and eyeroll.

“What do you want Hargrove.” what the hell was he doing here.

“Just here for some ice cream,” he held his hands up in mock surrender, “How about one cone of chocolate, and one vanilla cone with rainbow sprinkles.” the order struck a memory chord in him, the boy finding his eyes veering off the smug look on Billy’s face and toward the girl who had been on his mind for atleast a week now.

After scooping out the cones, he turned to Billy who threw the few dollar bills on the counter, “This for one of your women?” he poked boredly, hoping the boy would leave quickly.

“Yup.” Billy popped the ‘P’, sending a wink Steve’s way before marching out of the store. Steve let out a scoff, the look of annoyance quicking turning to one of confusion watching him walk in the opposite direction of the mall’s exit. The confusion left his body instantly, fear replacing it as he watched him walk toward Sam’s.

“Please be Mel, Please be Mel.” he chanted under his breath, praying that Nicole had nothing to do with his enemy. He felt the blood leave his face, forcing him to be as pale as a ghost, watching her run up to Billy with a smile, giving his side a quick hug before graciously accepting the cone.

He painfully watched them for the next half-hour, sitting in the foodcourt just barely in his line of sight. Robin noticed the two the second she entered the mall for her shift, speedwalking to the store in hopes to reach it before Steve could see them. Upon her entrance, she immediately noticed the kicked puppy behind the counter, walking around it and wrapping her arm around his shoulder comfortingly.

“I hate to break it to you, Steve, but this is kinda your fault.” Robin’s voice broke him out of his near trance, thankful to be watching something other than Nickie schmoozing it up with his arch nemesis. 

“Yeah, yeah,” with one last glance at the pair, he turned around walking into the back before dejectedly calling out to Robin, “I know.”.

AHHHHH it's finally here! I honestly don't hate it, the plot, but I do hate the pace of the story....Wayyy too fast, someone teach me how to slow things down!!! Let me know if you like it and wanna see the next chapter!! also, hmu to be added to the taglist for cherry bomb and the rest of my writes!!

taglist: @lollipopz

[lunarbuck]

Reset - One

Желание

Pairing: The Winter Soldier x f!Reader

WC: 5.7k

You wake to the fading image of his beautiful smile and the sound of heavy footsteps, signaling the beginning of your new life of nightmares.

Warnings/Tags: canon-typical violence, character death, swearing, description of injury, blood

series masterlist | my masterlist | ao3 | @hydravictrix | fic playlist

AN: I'm so excited for this first chapter!! Please let me know what you think <3 huge thank you to @candlelight-letters and @cwbucky for beta reading this for me!!!

Chapter 2

The first time you saw him, you thought he couldn't be real. You'd heard the stories, the legends, but they were just that. Stories. They had to be. His gaze could burn cities. It could sear through flesh.

But he's real, oh he's real. And as he drags you through what's left of the safehouse, reduced to rubble, you find a sense of peace. It washes over you like a river, cool and soft. You know that today is the day you will die, but you will have died fighting for what you believe in. You gave your last full measure of devotion to SHIELD, to the Avengers, to the people who will not just sit back and let their world turn to ashes.

Your legs give out after a few miles, so he carries you. He is not gentle; he tosses you over his shoulder and doesn't bother to shift you when his bones and gear dig into your abdomen. The world looks so different up here with your new perspective.

You should have known that the plan wouldn't have worked. You should have known they weren't bluffing about their secret weapon. You were naïve. A crime punishable by death.

His boots crunch against the cracked pavement, and for a moment, you close your eyes and imagine that you hear the footsteps of Steve. He was always coming to your rescue, even when you didn't need it. Always gotta be there for my best girl, he'd say. He'd hold you close and protect your back. He was your partner in every sense of the word, but he was so so much more.

Now, he's buried in that pile of rubble.

A small groan escapes your lips. It's the first sound you've made in what feels like years. He doesn't react, walking with what you can only describe as a pep in his step as if you are nothing to him. You must be; he doesn't seem to have human emotion. When he stormed into the safehouse, the mask that covered his face did nothing to protect you from the fire in his eyes. There were fifteen of you in that safe house, fifteen people who fought tooth and nail.

It wasn't enough.

He was faster, stronger. You thought he was going to kill you right there, but instead of bringing the knife down into your chest, he lodged it into your arm and tossed you to the side. You landed hard against the wall and could do nothing as he slaughtered your friends. Your family.

Steve had burst through the door a moment later; someone must have pressed a panic button. Hope bloomed, and for a moment, you thought maybe he could save you. He found you bleeding against the wall, but before he could get to you, he was intercepted. The men fought, nearly equally matched.

It was like watching Zeus and Hades battling. You'd never seen such feats of strength before. Steve tried to appeal to the man inside his opponent, someone long gone. Steve eventually got the upper hand, but it wasn't enough. He couldn't have known that a detonator had been set off and that a moment later, the building would be reduced to a pile of rock.

As the walls collapsed around you, you felt yourself being pulled out. The grip on your arm was painful. Your wound oozed and throbbed.

Your captor wordlessly stared you down as you found your footing. He tied your hands together and pulled on the rope, signaling the beginning of your walk.

Judging by how much the sun has set, you've been walking for a few hours. He doesn't seem to get tired, even with the weight of your body on his shoulder.

You've been silent the entire time. You don't have any fight left in you. It disappeared when you watched Steve's face fall, realizing that he'd lost. America's hero, Captain America, stared death in the face, and that's when you knew there was no winning.

When the sun has fully set, he moves you off his shoulder. The world flips, and blood rushes in your ears, flowing back to your arms and legs. When your vision clears, you see a large black SUV.

Hands push you into the backseat, landing with another pained groan. Your stab wound throbs more, and a fresh wave of blood flows down your bound arms.

Your captor sits in the front passenger seat beside the driver. They exchange a few words in Russian and the engine whirrs to life.

The car is nearly silent, and though you try to force yourself to stay awake, you know you've lost too much blood. Black specks creep into your vision, and you succumb to the warmth of sleep.

Cold. Everything is so cold. Shivers wrack your body, and no matter how tightly you squeeze yourself, you can't get warm.

Another wave of chills washes over you, and your eyes slowly open. You see unrelenting gray stone all around. No door, no window. You have no idea how they got you in here.

As if summoned by your thoughts, a panel in the wall opens, and there he is.

The Winter Soldier.

He stares at you, blue eyes piercing your mind. None of the stories you've heard say anything of mind-reading abilities, but the way his eyes roam over you sends doubt shooting through you.

"Get up," he says. The low timbre of his voice sends fear ripping through your veins. Despite the shooting pains in your body, you push yourself up to stand. The stab wound in your arm has been wrapped in some sort of dressing, but you had bled through it a long time ago. The once white bandages are brown and bloody.

You walk over to where he stands before collapsing. He forcefully grabs your arm and drags you through the damp hallway. You try to memorize the turns.

Left, left, right, left. But then your vision spins, and you lose track. You must make a noise because the Soldier huffs then mumbles something under his breath. He is the only constant; his masked face never fades from view. You want to speak, to say something to him, but the words die on your tongue. The Soldier is in his element. This is his home, there is nothing you can do or say that will stop him now.

Eventually, you reach a large room and come to a halting stop. The Soldier's demeanor changes. He straightens his spine and breathes deeply before stepping inside.

You feel bile rising in your throat when you see Alexander Pierce seated smugly in the center of the room. He is flanked by Brock Rumlow and Jack Rollins.

SHIELD worked for years to keep him out of power once it was discovered that he was with Hydra. You thought he was dead until a few years ago when he relaunched his attacks. With his knowledge of the inner workings of SHIELD and his secret weapons, it was almost too easy.

Your heart pounds in your ears as the Soldier drags you to where Pierce sits.

He pushes you down onto the ground, landing with a thud. Pierce laughs, the sound echoing in the nearly empty room.

"Mission report," Pierce says, a hint of his amusement still present in his voice.

"Raid on SHIED safe house successful. Confirmed deaths of high ranking members of the SHIELD resistance movement." Pierce nods, and it takes everything in you not to vomit.

"And the Captain?" He presses, rubbing his jaw. Pierce's eyes rake over you, and you can practically feel him poking and prodding you. Though you're fully clothed, you feel naked in his presence.

"Confirmed death." The Soldier pulls something from his pocket and tosses it to Rumlow. The star patch from the center of Steve's uniform, torn and ragged at the edges.

Rumlow looses a laugh and hands it to Rollins.

"Good work, Soldier." You see the way the Soldier puffs up his chest at Pierce's words; he thrives off the praise.

"Who's the bitch?" Rollins asks, leering down at you. A new wave of nausea rolls through you.

"A prisoner, as requested." You feel the Soldier's eyes drop down to you. You know you look pathetic.

"The Captain's plaything," Pierce remarks. Plaything. The word is so dismissive of everything you and Steve have. Had . Since the first day you joined SHIELD all those years ago, he had been so sweet.

He trained you and ensured you were the strongest person in every room you walked into. Other than him, obviously. On harder days, he would hold you close and tell you how much he loved you. "I've never seen anyone so beautiful, sweetie. You mean the world to me."

Even when Hydra ambushed the government, and you were all sent to different parts of the country, Steve still made sure you knew how much he loved you.

Even when each Avenger fell at the hands of Hydra, he still made sure you were safe.

"What're we supposed to do with her?" Rollins asks, dragging you back to the present. The memories of Steve and a time before the pain were a welcome reprieve from your current reality.

"She knows the inner workings of the resistance. She will be instrumental. How was she on the journey here?" Pierce directs the question to the Soldier.

"Compliant," the Soldier replies coldly. Rumlow steps forward and crouches down in front of you. He brushes a strand of hair from your face in an almost caring way, but the look in his eyes is anything but.

"It's a shame she didn't put up more of a fight. I love to break them." Rollins chuckles and joins Rumlow in the crouched position. You try to avoid their eyes, but Rumlow grips your chin.

"You really want Steve Rogers' sloppy seconds?" Rollins jeers. A tear slips from the corner of your eye, and it seems to just spur him on. He reaches out a hand and swipes the tear from your cheek. Rollins brings his thumb to his lips and tastes your tears.

He groans and rolls his eyes. "So fucking sweet. I get it now." You wish you had the fire of fight in your gut; you wish you could feel the anguish of rage in your chest. But you don't. You just feel empty. Maybe that's what happens when you're truly open, when you've lost everything and have nothing left to live for.

"Bring her back to her cell. We'll begin her training tomorrow." The Soldier nods and pulls you away from Rumlow and Rollins. He gives you only a second to stand before he's dragging you back to your cell.

He throws you into the stone room, and you groan at the impact.

"Please," you whisper. Your voice is hoarse and rough from not being used. "Please. "

"I don't know what you're begging for," he says, towering over you. His hair falls in his face, and you think that in another life, he could have been beautiful. Maybe he could have even been kind.

"You don't have to–" He steps into the cell, and your words die on your lips.

"Begging is pointless. I will do to you what I want. Rumlow and Rollins will do to you what they want." You feel wetness on your face. You're crying. The Soldier steps away, and the panel shuts you inside the cell.

Only when you hear his heavy footsteps fade do you allow the sobs to overtake you. They wrack your body and tear you apart.

Eventually, when you've run out of tears, when you've exhausted everything you have, you fall asleep.

You dream of your first date with Steve; he'd taken you dancing. He'd held you close during the slow songs and swung you around during the fast ones. Laughter spilled from both of you and your cheeks hurt from smiling so much.

He'd pulled you out into the street after and kissed you like you were the only woman in the world. He told you that you completed him, you made his world go round. He told you that he would be with you always; you'd never be able to get rid of him.

You wake to the fading image of his beautiful smile and the sound of heavy footsteps, signaling the beginning of your new life of nightmares.

The next week is the most painful week of your life. Every day, the Soldier drags you from your room. You are given a tasteless bowl of food twice a day. Once before your training, and once after.

The training is nothing like what you'd done at SHIELD. The Soldier straps you into a large chair and places a rubber bite piece in your mouth. Each time he does it, you stare into his eyes and search for something, anything, but you never find it. Once he is sure you are secure in the chair, he steps back beside Rumlow, who oversees your 'training'.

Rumlow presses a few keys on a computer, and the torture begins. You're shocked at increasing levels, each more excruciating than the last. You only get a few seconds between the shocks before the next begins, but every second you're able to, you watch the grin on Rumlow's face grow. You swear the lust in his eyes increases each time you get shocked.

The number of shocks is never the same; you can't discern a pattern. You do know, though, that when Rumlow decides to stop the torment, your vision floats with black spots. Your head swims with confusion, and you don't have the strength to walk.

From what SHIELD knew about Hydra, you understand that this is how they created the Winter Soldier. They electrocuted him until all the human inside was gone. You're not sure why they would want to do that to you, but most days, you're too exhausted to think about it more.

What you do know, though, is that they are trying to break you.

A few moments later, the Soldier comes to collect you. He cuffs you and drags you through the hallways. It takes you all night to recover, and when you wake in the morning, your body aches, but your thoughts are mostly clear.

It's agonizing and never-ending. Every day for an entire week, you endure it. By the eighth day, you're a shell of the woman you used to be.

After finishing your food, you brace yourself for the sound of the Soldier's footsteps, but they never come. Instead, a different person comes up to your cell. The panel slides open and Rumlow sneers when he sees you.

"You look fucking disgusting. Get up." You shudder as you push yourself up off the floor. After he cuffs you, you follow Rumlow down the hallway, curling in on yourself every time someone passes. No one looks your way.

You take new turns down new hallways until you reach some form of a locker room. You fill with dread when you see the block of showers.

You look at Rumlow as tears brim in your eyes, but he just laughs. "Strip and shower. There's soap and shit on the shelf. Make it fast; we have places to be." You shake your head. You don't want him to be there. Your tears fall and wet your cheeks. They've already broken you down so much. Why bother humiliating you more? How does he expect you to undress when your hands are cuffed together?

When you don't start taking your clothes off, Rumlow takes matters into his own hands. His rough, calloused fingers tear at your tactical gear, tugging it from your shoulders. You cry out and try to step away, but his grip on you is tight.

"Rumlow," the Soldier's voice booms from the door. You spin around and find him stalking toward you. Rumlow groans and rubs his hand over his jaw in annoyance.

"They let you out of your cage?" He crows, continuing to tug at your clothes. The Soldier steps forward and grabs your arm, pulling you from Rumlow's grip.

"You weren't supposed to bring her. She's mine." You shiver at his possessiveness. Rumlow's eyes darken, but he doesn't fight with the Soldier.

"Be quick. Pierce wants her clean and dressed before seeing her." Rumlow leaves the bathroom, heavy boots thundering on the way out.

The Soldier turns and lets his eyes roam your body. Your shoulders are exposed, but nothing else has been revealed. His gaze is cold and calculating, not lustful like Rumlows had been.

"You need to bathe," he says plainly.

"I can't take off my clothes if my hands are restrained," you reply quietly. Over the past week, you've tried to appeal to the Soldier's humanity. You quickly found that he has none.

"I can't do that." His voice is stern. He isn't taking any risks with you.

"Then how am I supposed to take off my clothes?" You hate the way your voice wavers. The Soldier removes a blade from his belt and flips it through his metal fingers in response to your words.

You flinch away from him as he brings the blade toward you.

"Stop." His fingers grip you, and he cuts away your gear. You shut your eyes and hold back your tears at the sound of your clothes ripping from your body. A few times, his blade grazes your skin, but he never cuts you. The cold metal sends shivers through your body as you try to stay as still as possible to avoid being nicked. Before long, you're naked. The air is cold, and goosebumps erupt on your skin.

Without letting his eyes drop, the Soldier guides you to the shower. He turns on the water but doesn't give it time to warm before moving you under the stream.

The water is cold, and it stings your skin. The Soldier steps back and turns so you can have the illusion of privacy. Since your hands are cuffed in front of you, you can reach onto the shelf for the shampoo and soap.

It feels good to lather the product into your hair; it's been caked with dirt and blood since the day you'd been captured.

You find it more challenging to wash your body. The strain of contorting your body makes your stab wound ache. It takes you longer to scrape all the dirt and dried blood from your skin, but once you're done, you feel just slightly more human.

Once you can't prolong it any longer, you turn back toward the Soldier.

"I'm done," you say, shuddering. The Soldier doesn't respond; instead, he steps away and returns with a stack of clothes and a towel. He hands them to you, keeping his eyes on yours. "Thank you." The Soldier shakes his head and turns away.

After you dry off as much as you can, you slide on the underwear and pants he'd given you. They're too big, but you have to make due. You're not sure how you'll get the shirt on, though.

You shuffle toward the Soldier apprehensively, but it's your only choice. He turns when he notices your presence and furrows his brow. It's as if the scowl is permanently etched into his face. You feel the urge to press the lines with your thumb to soothe them. When the Soldier takes the shirt and bra from your fingers, you snap out of the trance.

He unlocks one of your hands, and you feel your fingers tingle as blood flows back to them. The Soldier wordlessly helps you into the undergarment and then the shirt. His actions are slow and careful; he makes sure not to touch you in the process.

"Pierce is expecting us," he says as he cuffs you again. They're tighter this time, but you don't say anything. You know he won't loosen them.

The Soldier walks you through the hallways, your bare feet slapping quietly on the linoleum floor. Eventually, you reach an elevator that takes you and the Soldier down to the facility's lowest level.

Alexander Pierce, Jack Rollins, and Brock Rumlow all turn to look at you when the steel doors slide open. Your steps falter, and the Soldier keeps pushing you forward.

"Put her in the chair so we can get started," Pierce says, regarding you with prying eyes.

The Soldier pushes you down into a metal chair and moves your restraints from handcuffs to the wrist cuffs on the arms of the chair. These cuffs are leather, but they are somehow tighter than the handcuffs.

Rollins stalks over to you and runs his hand along your jaw back into your damp hair.

"You gonna be a good girl for us?" He asks, squeezing your face with his calloused fingers. You whimper, and Rollins squeezes tighter.

"All right, all right, that's enough, Rollins. Let's get started." Rollins tucks your hair behind your ears before stepping to your side.

"So," Pierce begins. "You were part of the resistance. We understand that you were an integral member of SHIELD's forces, working quite closely with Captain Steve Rogers." You wait for him to ask a question, but it doesn't come. He's just spewing facts about you to you. You've been trained to withstand interrogation and torture techniques, but Pierce's tactic doesn't make sense.

You respond with silence and try to stare down Pierce.

"Do you know of other safehouses?"

You don't move. You don't even breathe. Pierce nods to Rollins, and before you can react, he brings his fist down on your face. Blood fills your mouth, and your lip stings. He hasn't broken anything, but you doubt he'll hold back.

"We know of the existence of ten SHIELD safe houses. Where are they?"

You spit the blood from your mouth. It lands with a splat on the floor.

Rollins replies by punching you again. This time, he clips your cheekbone, and the pain radiates through your skull.

The Soldier grumbles something to Pierce, but the older man brushes him off. You wonder if he's defending you.

"I thought you were gonna be a good girl for us," Rollins coos mockingly.

"I don't know," you croak. Pierce shakes his head, clearly unhappy with your response.

"Lying only will make this worse for you," he says, standing and walking over to you. He crouches down, so he's at eye level with you, and you try not to shrink away from him.

"I swear I don't know," you whimper pathetically. From the corner of your vision, you see Rollins roll out his neck.

"I know you think you're protecting your friends, but I promise you're not." Your hands have gone numb, and your legs tingle. You can't give up anything, no matter how uncomfortable you are.

"I don't think she's gonna talk, Pierce," Rumlow voices from a few feet away. You glance over at him and try not to cower away from his gaze.

When Hydra first took over, you saw the violence caused at the hands of Brock Rumlow. He performed nearly every public torturing session and even a few executions. You don't even want to imagine what he has in mind for you.

Rumlow and Rollins switch places, and your blood runs cold.

"Is Nick Fury alive?" Pierce asks, changing his line of questioning. You haven't seen Fury in a year; you've only heard whisperings of his existence.

"I don't know," you say, trying to feign confidence. Fury trained you better than this; Steve trained you better than this. When did you become so weak? Steve would be disappointed. You steal your face and school your emotions. You need to be better than this.

"She doesn't know," Pierce echoes. He nods to Rumlow, who raises his fist and brings it down on your stomach. You groan loudly and slump over as much as your restraints allow.

"When was the last time you heard from Nick Fury?" You shake your head and take deep breaths, but Rumlow doesn't give you a chance to recover before he grips your hair and yanks your head back.

"Answer the question."

"I don't know." Another blow to the stomach.

"You need to focus," Steve said, running his fingers through his hair. He shuffled around the ring, always so light on his feet despite his stature.

"I am focused, Steven; we just have different goals." You wiggled your eyebrows and watched that mountain of a man blush like a teenage boy. You took the opportunity to sweep his legs out from underneath him. With just a few moves, you had him pinned to the mat. Steve was much stronger than you, he could've gotten out from beneath you if he wanted to, but he didn't.

"Was this your goal, sweet girl?" He asked, panting. He couldn't help but let his eyes settle on your lips, but you didn't mind. Not one bit.

"Maybe," you teased. "And what're you gonna do about it?"

"Fucking bitch." Your jaw rattles with another punch.

It goes on for hours. Pierce asks a question, you don't have an answer, Rumlow or Rollins beats you. After a while, you become numb to their blows. All you can focus on is the calm gaze of the Soldier. His blue eyes stare into you, examining and picking you apart.

When the interrogation finally ends, Pierce dismisses Rumlow and Rollins. He turns back to you and forces you to lift your head to face him.

"You are strong but not strong enough to live through this. I want you safe and healthy. I'm not going to kill you. Next time, answer my questions. You will be pleased with the results." His voice makes nausea roll through you. His breath is hot on your face.

"I don't know anything," you whimper, blood dripping from your split lip.

"I will find out what you know whether you're conscious for it or not. I'm not a monster, but I'm not a good man. You won't like my methods." With those parting words, Pierce looks at the Soldier and nods. The Soldier hauls you out of the chair and doesn't even bother to cuff your hands. You're too weak to fight. The world spins around you as he drags you back to your cell.

He sets you down on the small cot you'd been given a few days ago and pushes your hair from your eyes.

The Soldier pulls a cloth from a pocket in his gear and wets it in the pitcher of water in the corner of your cell.

He wipes the blood from your face but never meets your eyes. He makes sure your wounds are as clean as they can be before laying you down and checking your stomach.

The way he touches you and treats you is cold and medical, but you try to twist it in your head to be kindness.

This could be kindness; his fingers could be gentle as they brush your skin. His eyes could be soft when he sees your wounds. He could hold you in his arms, warming you during the long cold nights.

He's so close to you now that you can practically feel the warmth radiating off his body. You glance into his eyes, and for the first time since the interrogation room, he stares back. Maybe there's something left in there, something human.

Conflict swims in his eyes, and you can see his jaw tensing.

"Thank you," you whisper. The Soldier's gaze drops from your eyes to your lips. He stands with a start and pushes away, exiting the cell and shutting the panel behind him.

Somehow, the man who has brought you to Hell is the one saving you from the flames.

The Soldier drags you to a new wing of the compound; it smells like sweat and the tang of blood. You enter a room that looks eerily similar to the training area in the Avengers compound. For a moment, you can hear their voices, cheering each other on as they spar. You can practically see Steve leaning against the wall, waiting for you to join him.

The vision is ripped away when the Soldier pushes you to the center of the ring. He unlocks your cuffs and steps back as you rub your wrists. You glance around, the only exit is blocked by the Soldier, and you doubt you'll be able to get past him. He must suspect your thoughts because he quickly types in a combination of numbers on a keypad, and the large door slides shut, locking automatically.

"You trained with SHIELD," he says, voice devoid of emotion.

"Yes," you reply quietly. You're not very stable on your feet, you haven't gotten good rest in days,

"You trained with Captain America." The Soldier spits out Steve's title as if it were poison on his tongue. Your eyes flit back to the spot where you'd imagined Steve to be, and your heart thuds in your chest.

"Yes." The Soldier grunts out something you don't understand, but you don't care. Your eyes are still fixed on the wall. You imagine Steve wearing his favorite white tee, a pair of sweatpants, and his baseball cap. The brim of his hat covers his eyes just enough to where he can get away with watching you in ways that were, in his words, "untoward."

Natasha brushed off her hands after taking down a young male agent. She helped him up and shoots you a wink, knowing you loved watching her spar. Steve stood beside you, his thumb rubbing circles onto the back of your hand. He always needed to be touching you somehow, holding your hand, touching your leg; he needed the connection. "70 years on ice will do that to a guy," he liked to joke.

"We're up," you said, tugging him into the sparring ring. Steve wrapped his arms around you, holding you against his chest while you attempted to wiggle your way out.

"What if we just went for a walk instead," Steve whispered against the top of your head. You laughed and slipped out of his grip.

"You're just saying that because you don't want me to beat your ass, Cap," you teased. Steve raised an eyebrow at your word choice, and before he could chastise you for it, you added, "I know, I know, language." That earned you a smile.

Steve realized you weren’t going to give up, so he joined you in the ring, and you began to dance around each other. For being so big, Steve was pretty graceful. He was good on his feet and was always so aware of what he was doing. Most people sparring with him never saw his blows coming, but you noticed his tell.

He smiled, big and bright. Every single time.

You don't see it coming. The Soldier's foot slams into your stomach, and you fall back. Hard. The wind is knocked out of you, and your head slams against the ground. It's padded slightly, but it still hurts. Your healing stab wound throbs, but you ignore it. You need to get up before he kicks you again.

The Soldier steps back and gives you a moment to stand. You feel his eyes on you the entire time. You wish you were dressed better; all you're wearing is the oversized shirt he'd given you after your last shower, a loose pair of tactical pants, and your worn combat boots.

"You're distracted," the Soldier says, taking off his mask and vest. "Didn't they teach you better, куколка (little doll)?" You don't know what the word means, but his eyes widen when he says it, it must've been an accident.

You don't reply. Instead, you take a few deep breaths. It's clear that you won't get to leave here until you fight the Soldier. You notice that he doesn't have any of his usual weapons strapped to him, so he must be planning on hand-to-hand only.

The Soldier begins to circle you, starting the familiar dance of sparring. He's about the same size as Steve is – was – so you know generally where all the best spots to go for are. You try to tell yourself this is the same as sparring with Steve, only now your opponent has a metal arm, and you don't know his tells.

He strikes first, and you attempt to block the blow with little success.

It goes on like this for what feels like an eternity. He strikes, you try to block. Anytime you try to attack, he beats you to it, but you refuse to give up. As long as you're on your feet, he hasn't won. You're bleeding and bruised, but that faint image of Steve keeps you fighting.

The Soldier steps back and grabs a knife from his pile of gear. The blade flashes in the harsh light, and you flinch at the sight of it. He smiles, and the darkness of his expression shakes you. You watch as he tosses the knife on the ground, sending it skidding toward you. It comes to a stop at the toe of your boot.

Tentatively, you reach down and pick it up, feeling the weight of it in your hand. You feel the Soldier's eyes searing into you, and when you meet his eye, you see the hunger. His tongue swipes along his lower lip, and you swallow dryly in response.

You move first, stepping toward him. He doesn't get a weapon for himself, so you have a slight advantage now. To get him with the knife, though, you have to be close. He'll have a better chance of hitting you.

It takes a lot of maneuvering, you take a lot of hits from him, but eventually, you feel the knife graze along the Soldier's flesh arm. The gash isn't deep, it's superficial, but it's something.

The Soldier flashes you a terrifying smile; it makes you freeze in your tracks. He uses the opening to bring you to the ground, straddling your waist and pressing you into the floor. The air rushes from your lungs, and for a moment, the Soldier is the only thing to exist in your world.

His cold blue eyes stare into you, and it's as if he can read your mind. He wets his lip again, and you track the movement. The hunger in his gaze grows as his metal fingers swipe at the blood around his wound.

With him so close, you can breathe him in. Despite living in the damp compound, the Soldier smells like pine trees, like a forest in spring.

"You're strong, куколка," he says, voice low. "But you need to be stronger if you're going to survive this."

Translations:

ангел = angel

куколка (f) = little doll

принцесса (f) = princess

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